


Sammy Loves Instruments

by RavenGryphon



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal, Blatant Disrespect of Boundaries, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Fuck All the Instruments!, Hand Jobs, Instrument Sex, Loss of Anal Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Sammy likes to bang instruments, So Much Instrument Sex, Susie doesn't understand him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23935606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenGryphon/pseuds/RavenGryphon
Summary: I started to write this for my IRL AU short stories, but figured it was different enough in style, tone, and subject to be its own thing. So here we are.That one fic where Sammy loves the instruments a little too much.
Relationships: Jack Fain/Sammy Lawrence, Sammy Lawrence/Instruments
Comments: 50
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

Sammy has sensitive ears. He always has, and always will. It's both a blessing and a curse. Most of the sounds in the world annoy him to the point that he's constantly grumpy, and people think he's over reacting. Biological sounds are torment. Someone chewing gum, snorting down snot, slurping food, gulping fluid, wheezing breath, tongue clicking while talking, all drive Sammy into a rage. As most people make some annoying sound or another, being around others is challenging for Sammy. Other sounds are just distracting, like high heels on wooden floors, a soft conversation echoing down the hall, or the mechanical sounds rumbling through walls. 

The good side of his sensitivity is it makes him very good at his job. He enjoys pleasant sounds greatly, and finds them very soothing. He gives out rare compliments when pieces are played perfectly, closing his eyes and enjoying the notes exactly as they are meant to be played. And his wrath falls on those who play sloppily.  
One voice actress always seems to hit the proper notes. Her high voice would be very easy to slip from pleasing to tooth grindingly bad. But she never lets her voice fall out of control. Her goal of being perfect rivals that of Sammy's. Because of this, he always has a kind word for the good voice actress.

But his real love is with the instruments themselves. He enjoys holding them, tuning them, or even just having them around. Their curves attract his eye, the polished wood and strings call to him. He always has at least one by his elbow, even if it's only to enjoy the company of the instrument.  
And playing them. Playing them is like sex. Their notes sing out as his long fingers dance over the frets or keys. They respond exactly how they should to Sammy's talented touch, and man and instrument move together to make something pure and perfect. 

Sometimes Sammy has to hide behind a piano to discretely adjust his trousers while forced to perform with others around. But by himself, either at home or locked in his sanctuary, he can enjoy the union of man and instrument with no shame or worry of being caught. After a well played piece, he may cradle the instrument he just played and pet it with one hand while the other takes care of Sammy's needs. Other times he chooses contact that's a little more intimate. Really, it's all he needs in terms of a relationship. His closeness to music satisfies him both emotionally and sexually.  
The real problem comes from Susie Campbell, that actress with the excellent control over her voice. 

As it turns out, when a handsome man is only nice to a cartoon devil and one woman, everyone around them, including the woman, assumes his interest in her goes beyond what's professional. Granted, if Sammy could have relations just with the sound of her voice, he probably would. But he has no room in his life for an entire woman.  
Sammy remains blissfully unaware of Susie's growing attachment to him. He hears people mumble behind his back, sure, but that's nothing new. People always have some shit to spread about the grumpy music director. He learned to ignore it years ago. 

When Susie asks Sammy for some private singing lessons, he agrees, thinking nothing more of it. They spend an extra hour together some days after work, alone in a recording booth, singing together as Sammy tutors the actress. He enjoys the time spent with someone who can appreciate good sounds. She enjoys the time spent with a fit man with sharp blue eyes and a sexy voice. 

One evening after work is over, Sammy finds himself alone in his office. Working late is common enough for employees at Joey Drew Studios, but this evening Sammy is alone in his department. He eyes a tempting violin sitting on his desk. It's an instrument he's had relations with plenty of times before, and the way the light is glinting off the smooth wood makes his lower stomach feel tight. Well, why not? 

Sammy picks up the violin and quickly plucks the strings to test the sound. Since this is one of his favorite instruments, it rarely falls out of tune. The strings sing out perfectly. He cradles it close to his chest for a while, muttering gently to it and brushing his lips against it. He smells the varnished wood. The body feels light and delicate in his hands. 

“You're such a good instrument,” he compliments it, rubbing his thumb along the neck. “Look how you glow in the light.” He peppers kisses along the violin, focusing more on the scroll now and humming to it. He traces his fingers along the F holes, then down the tail piece before lightly flicking the end button like it's a clit.  
“Do you like that? Are you warmed up and ready to make music together?”

He adjusts himself in his pants, tightens the hair on his bow and begins to play. He closes his eyes as the tune rings out, rich and right, echoing well off the walls. He sways where he stands, allowing himself to get completely lost in the sound. However Sammy strokes the strings with the bow, the instrument responds like a lover moaning from being touched. He starts to hum along, his voice slowly shifting from musical to sexual as he really starts to strain his trousers. He keeps to the lower notes, finding them more alluring, as his tempo picks up with his excitement. The violin practically quivers in his arms like it's anticipating what's going to happen next. 

The moment has arrived. He needs to finish. He quickly sets the bow aside, undoes his pants and rubs himself hard against the back of the violin. The smooth curves of the instrument, the thin neck, the rich color of the wood, and of course, the music they just made together drives him. The tiny waist of the instrument feels perfectly sexual in his hands as he ruts against it, groaning. 

“That's right, you little slut,” he growls softly. “The way you were moaning, you were just asking for it. Take it, now, take it-” 

He keeps the strings muted under his fingers so no unwanted twanging interrupts his bliss. Within seconds, he's climaxing, hips jutting as he holds the violin tightly against his crotch. He sighs, satisfied, when a small sound makes him glance over his shoulder. 

Susie stands behind him in the doorway to his office, eyes wide and hand over her mouth. The sound of Sammy's playing drew her in, but she got more of a show than she intended. Shocked, Sammy looks back at her with his own wide eyes, clutching the soiled violin in front of him as meager cover. 

“Uuh-” Sammy stammers. He doesn't get anything else out before she turns and runs away. Sammy blushes bright red. He thought he was alone, and let himself get so involved in the sound that he didn't hear her walk up behind him. He looks down at the cum stained violin and turns to his desk to wipe it clean, trying not to think about how Susie just got an eyeful of his bare thrusting butt and heard him cry out during his orgasm. Let alone the implications of having an employee see her boss have sex with a violin. 

A few minutes later Sammy locks up his office to head home. He just managed to get his heart to stop pounding, though his face is still pink and he can't get rid of the heavy embarrassment weighing in his chest. He stops short when he realizes Susie is standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall. His blush deepens and he shuffles his feet sheepishly on the floor. He wants to take control of the situation, maybe snap at her for something, but his throat is too tight. His eyes flick nervously past her face. He can't even make eye contact. 

“You know, Sammy...” the woman says, her voice pitched a little lower than usual. “You don't need to use an instrument. I'm pretty sure I can hit most of the notes that violin can.” 

“U-uhmm, excuse me,” Sammy mutters. He rushes by her, head ducked, and hurries to leave. He tugs at his shirt, stressed, as he flees. He has no idea how to respond to that offer. How can a man explain to a woman that he prefers an instrument without insulting her or himself? 

The whole trip home, he can't get rid of his blush. It's annoying. He doesn't normally get rattled, but these are odd circumstances. How is he going to face her tomorrow? What if she tells the others? The whole evening he can't shake his shame. Even holding and plucking his own personal instruments doesn't calm him like it normally would. So what if he's sexually attracted to instruments and music? Everyone has their preferences. His are just a little... Unconventional. All Sammy did was pleasure himself in a professional work space that he thought was empty. Susie was the one who propositioned him. Like she caught him kissing his wife and offered herself up. If anything, she was the one acting inappropriate. Or so he keeps telling himself. 

The next day is as awkward as Sammy feared. Susie keeps standing too close to him, leaning her breasts at him, flirting with him. It's so obvious that even Sammy has to notice. It doesn't help that every time he looks at her, that damn blush keeps creeping back onto his face. It looks bad. The whole situation looks bad. 

He retreats to his office. He sits at his desk, head in his hands, as he tries to figure out a way to turn Susie down. If he makes her angry or offends her, she could tell the whole studio what she saw. If he gives her what she wants, he's stuck with either dating her, sleeping with her, or worse. 

“Sammy?”

The man flinches, looking towards his door where Susie stands once more. Feeling guilty, he blushes yet again as his eyes flick over to where the violin rests on his desk. She notices, and smiles. 

“It's okay, Sammy,” she purrs, coming closer. “I didn't tell anyone. I won't tell anyone. It'll be our little secret.” She picks up the violin and strokes it where Sammy had fucked it the night before. “You and I make such beautiful music together. Would you like to try a different kind of performance?” 

Sammy has to admit, the way she's using music to excite his kink is effecting him. He drops a hand to his lap nervously. He's not tenting yet, but he's scared he's about to. 

“Sammy?” Bendy calls as he steps inside his office. “Oops, you're busy.”

“Ah, no, no, Bendy. It's fine. Come in,” Sammy quickly says. 

Susie sighs and gives Sammy an annoyed look. “Fine, Sammy. But don't think you'll get rid of me that easily.” She rubs her hand suggestively along the neck of the violin, then gently sets it back down onto the desk. She saunters away, hips swaying. 

The next evening Sammy stays late to finish up a song. He holds a banjo in his lap as he curls over his desk. His left hand moves up and down the neck of the banjo, fingers forming the chords silently as he reads them off the sheet music. As every other time he finds himself alone and groping an instrument, he's erect. But it's common enough that it doesn't distract him from his task. It will go away on its own, or he will deal with it later.

“Saaammy,” Susie calls softly. She kneels down on the floor next to his knee. The composer immediately stiffens his back, stressed. She runs her fingers along his knee. “I wonder. Is it just violins, or do banjos do it for you, too?” She slips her fingers around the back of the instrument and tugs it forward. Sammy scrambles to hide himself, but his impressive size is too much for him to hide with no notice. 

Susie grins and lets Sammy use the banjo to cover himself again. She lightly pets his thigh, humming at him. “I get it, Sammy. You're shy. That's alright. Why don't we play with the banjo tonight? Just the banjo. I know you're interested; you can't hide that from me.” 

He shivers a little. He's never considered doing such a performance in front of anyone, let alone with someone. But maybe it would be enjoyable. Maybe she understands his kink.

“Come on, Sammy. Play for me. Just a little song on the banjo,” Susie prompts. 

Before Sammy can really thinks about it, he starts to pick out a tune. Susie keeps touching his knee and thigh as he plays. With her off hand, she touches and plays with her breast over her top. Sammy keeps his focus on the banjo, which is probably the wrong thing to do in this situation. The sexual tension he feels only worsens. He finds himself holding the pot against his cock to give himself something to push against. His hips start to rock with the music, stimulating himself slightly. 

Susie gets on her knees and reaches around the top of the banjo to undo his trousers. Sammy squeezes his eyes shut, but doesn't protest. His breath catches when he feels her warm hand around him, pulling him free of his clothes. He leans back to give her room as he keeps playing the banjo. Susie spits in her palm and starts to pump him. Sammy's playing speeds up, his breath quickens. Still his notes sound crisp and correct; not even intense sexual arousal gets in the way of his music. If anything, the excitement makes his movements more precise. 

Suddenly he knocks Susie's hand away. He grabs the banjo tightly to his body and finishes hard into the hollow banjo, his cock wedged against the head of the instrument. And immediately feels shame and regret. This isn't right. That wasn't about the music or the instrument, not really. It was simply stimulation from another person's hand. His blush returns with a vengeance, and he hastily rights himself. 

Susie coos at him and leans down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “See, Sammy? That wasn't too bad, was it?”

It was terrible. He inspects the banjo, hoping he didn't hurt it by cumming inside it so hastily. He might need to have the head replaced. 

“Maybe next time we won't need the banjo at all,” Susie continues. 

Sammy feels like a fool. He had convinced himself that she understands, that maybe she, too, is attracted to music. For a brief moment, he thought maybe they could both get off to music together. But clearly she just sees the instruments as a prop, a way for Sammy to get around some shyness. He still doesn't say anything to Susie, who finally kisses his hair again, lightly running her fingers over it, and leaves him be. 

Sammy doesn't like this. He likes being in control of his employees, not being under Susie's thumb. He feels used and harassed, even though he allowed it to happen. She touched him, and wants even more from him. It feels like sexual blackmail. He can't turn her down out of terror that she will tell on him. And he's getting exhausted of being scared all the time. 

He stands to tend to the banjo. He holds it close and whispers apologies to it. “I didn't mean to use you that way... You didn't deserve that... I'll make it up to you next time...” He cleans the banjo and inspects it, deciding that it will survive the rough treatment it received. 

The next morning Sammy wakes to an idea. It's a terrible, awful, backstabbing idea that makes him feel bad just considering it. But he knows how he can get rid of Susie while he keeps his hands clean. She would never know it was him, and therefore, would not have a reason to spread his secret. Then he could go to work in peace and resume his relationship with the instruments. But could he live with himself? 

It's all her fault, he tells himself. She started this problem, she won't leave him alone. After walking in on him that night, she should have retreated and never mentioned it again like a normal person, not torment him over it. He just wants to have sex with instruments and not be bothered. And why not? He's not hurting anyone. 

He's shorter than usual with everyone today as he wrestles with his decision. He retreats to his office for lunch to try to get a break. And finds Susie already there, waiting for him. 

“Hello, there, big boy,” she bats her eyelashes at him. “Would you like to play?” She steps forward and places her hands on his hips, giving them a squeeze. “You left me awfully hungry after last night.” 

Panic rises in Sammy's chest. No, he can't deal with this any longer. “Ah, actually, Mr. Drew has called me to his office. I'm sorry. Perhaps later?” 

She pouts at him. “I suppose duty calls. I'll see you after hours, then,” she winks at him as she leaves. 

Sammy swallows. He needs to talk to Mr. Drew.

Sammy taps his knuckles on the door frame of Joey's open office door. 

“Ah, Sammy!” the studio owner booms. “Come on in, come on in! It's been a while. How are the tunes going?”

“Fine, for the most part. I-”

“For the most part? Don't fall behind, now, son. We can't produce cartoons without music!”

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Well, come in and sit down! I've always got a few minutes for my favorite music director!”

Sammy does as he's asked. He nervously folds his hands in his lap. 

“Well, Sammy? What's the matter?”

“I don't like to spread gossip. You know I keep to myself, and don't take part of the department drama.”

Joey folds his hands under his chin and props his elbows on his desk, leaning towards Sammy. It's good Joey bait. The man is very concerned with office talk and rumors. “Yes?”

“I've heard a lot of... Sour talk lately. I haven't said anything because everything I've heard was second hand.”

“What sort of sour talk?”

“Lots of doubt regarding the future of the studio. Whispers about financial trouble. Opinions about how the studio is run.” 

Joey frowns. “You're here now. Did you ever find the source of these rumors?”

“I don't want to get her in trouble. If word got out that I came to you, I would lose the respect and trust of my employees.”

“I'll cover for you, Sammy. You are a valuable member of our team. And if you can provide information about trouble starters, I'll make double sure folks don't know you're the leak. That way, we can all benefit.”

“You won't tell her why-?”

“She will be replaced on the spot, and she will never know the real reason.”

Sammy hides a smile under a grim expression of concern. He knows Joey hates rumors, but firing people over them seems like an overreaction. It's exactly what he was hoping for, though, so after a moment, he finally completes his lie. “Susie Campbell.”

Joey sits back with a sigh. “Susie? I knew I had a bad feeling about her. Such a shame, though, to lose an iconic voice for Alice Angel.”

“Well you wouldn't have to fire her...”

“Oh, no, she's gone. I'll get a replacement post haste! Thank you, Sammy. You're being a great help to the studio.” He stands and leads Sammy towards the door. “If there's anything I can do to help you out, just let me know, and I will definitely look into it!”

Sammy leaves without another word, trying not to slink from his guilt. Joey is already helping him out. He just doesn't know it. 

A few days later, Sammy does a very careful patrol of his music department. He wants to be damned sure that there isn't anyone lurking around. He just got rid of his last problem, he's not looking for a new one. Satisfied that he's alone, he approaches the piano. 

“Hello, there,” he greets the instrument as he runs his fingers over the keys. “I heard the way you were talking to me today. Are you feeling a little neglected?” He leans over the upright piano, resting his forearms on the top. This happens to line him up perfectly, putting pressure from the keyframe in exactly the right spot. He nuzzles the wooden surface of the piano, enjoying the smooth grain of the wood on his lips and face, breathing in the scent. 

“Don't worry, I heard you. Your wanton cries for attention. So needy, yet so beautiful. I'm sorry if I made you jealous by giving the bass fiddle so much attention last night.” Sammy sits down on the bench and starts to play. He begins slowly, caressing the keys lovingly as he tilts his head, leaning closer to the instrument. He closes his eyes and relaxes, letting his hands feel their way through the music, and go wherever his mood leads. His knees drift further apart as he gets more aroused. His fingers tremble slightly, but don't falter on the keys. 

He moans at the piano. “Your voice is so smooth... Ah... Why does playing you properly take both my hands?” He's desperate for some stimulation, so he drops his left hand down to his lap and unbuttons his pants, slipping his hand inside. He pumps himself while continuing to play for a few minutes longer, then hops to his feet. He steps around to the side of the piano and grinds against the smooth wood, gripping the frame of the piano until his knuckles turn white. 

“Is this what you wanted? This is what you asked for, isn't it?” he grunts through gritted teeth. A moment later, it's done. 

He leans against the piano, catching his breath. He feels that familiar warmth in his chest, like he's complete and whole. He rests his cheek against the top of the piano and gazes at the other instruments with lidded eyes. This is how it's supposed to be. Just him, his beloved instruments, and the music. And if anyone gets between him and his passion, he will have them removed with no hesitation or guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Musician 1: Sammy, this instrument smells kind of...  
>  Musician 2: Like ball sweat?  
>  Musician 1: Yeah, that's it! Ball sweat!  
>  Sammy: NO SMELLING THE INSTRUMENTS!
> 
> I like to think that Sammy isn't nearly as sneaky as he thinks he is. Every evening Norman skulks by, sees Sammy slapping against an instrument, and is like, “Yeah, it's another Tuesday.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This happened because of my good buddy Pin over on the 18+ Kink Machine Discord server co-authored this with me.  
> What? 18+ Kink Bendy server? That's right! Assuming you're of age, you should join! We have tons of fun there. And I'm sure someone will enjoy your kink of shoving plant matter up your urethra. 
> 
> https://discord.gg/QKESCVf
> 
> Anyway! Thanks to Pin for the ideas, motivation, large chunks of writing, and editing.

It all starts because of a guilty projectionist. Of course Norman knows of Sammy's nightly escapades with the studio instruments. And he honestly couldn't care less. Sammy being weird is as normal as anything else that happens around here. It's none of Norman's business, and Sammy's not hurting anyone.

But his nightly activities gives Norman pause when he notices Sammy's repeated use of Jack's personal fiddle. It sits wrong with Norman. It's one thing to use the studio instruments, but Jack's? Jack is their friend. The gentle man never hurt anyone or said a foul word. And unlike the other musicians who prefer to play their own instruments, the trusting Mr. Fain leaves his fiddle at work when he goes home. It’s just not right for Sammy to go behind his back like that. 

Norman keeps his conversation with Jack short and to the point. He’s not looking to gossip about everything the music director keeps up to when he thinks no one is looking. He simply tells Jack what he needs to know so he can protect his property.

Which is why Jack corners Sammy in the music room one morning, his violated fiddle in hand, accusation in his eyes, and an angry edge to his voice never heard before.

“You fucked my fiddle?”

Jack stares Sammy down, outraged and bewildered.

Sammy doesn't look him in the eye. He can tell there's no point in denying it. “Yes.”

Hearing it confirmed only makes Jack more incredulous at the sheer audacity. “You seriously fucked my fiddle?”

“Look, I already said-”

Jack cuts him off with a wave of his hand, still trying to process this. “You intentionally jacked off all over the instrument that I routinely put my face against?”

Sammy doesn’t appreciate the phrasing as though Jack's fiddle was not an equally willingly participant. "I just took up the offer when it was given," he tells Jack, but that doesn't seem to appease him at all.

"Are you kidding me, Sammy? You're the one throwing yourself at the entire orchestra supply closet, and yet somehow my fiddle is the whore in this equation?"

"I didn't hurt it and everything was cleaned up."

“Oh what a true friend you are, Sammy,” Jack snaps back, voice dripping with sarcasm. “How charitable of you to wipe your jizz off my fiddle before putting it back.”

The angrier Jack becomes, the more persecuted Sammy feels. He doesn’t see why it has to be such a big deal. 

“How many times?” Jack demands.

“How many times what?”

“How many times have you nutted all over my fiddle?”

Now Jack is just being ridiculous. Sammy throws up his arms. “How am I supposed to know how many times?”

“Well I guess enough for you to have lost count!” 

Even as he's being yelled at, Sammy's eyes keep flicking down to the fiddle Jack's holding. He likes how small and delicate it looks in Jack's hand.

The musician notices Sammy's wandering gaze, and it pushes him over the edge. He shoves his fiddle against the taller man's chest. 

“You know what, Sammy,” Jack says bitterly, “why don't you take it then? It's your fiddle now. You obviously use it more than I do, anyway.”

“Wait, Jack-” is Sammy's meager reply to Jack's retreating back as he briskly walks off. He looks down at the fiddle in his hands. He didn't mean to upset Jack, and even now, he can't understand why he's so unhappy. The violin is perfectly fine. If Jack hates Sammy touching his fiddle so much, he should have kept it satisfied. 

Things continue as usual for Sammy for the next few days. Jack's fiddle gets a lot of attention, as Sammy's orgasms seem to be more intense with it. But soon the magic starts to fade, and Sammy drifts onto other instruments.

Meanwhile, Jack starts to watch Sammy like a hawk. He likes to sit in on the band recordings so he can hear the music and see the projected animation at the same time. That way he can scribble down ideas for suitable lyrics easily. But now his eyes track Sammy more than the cartoon devil on the screen. There's a lot of body language there that Jack had always assumed was irritation. But now Jack realizes that Sammy is constantly battling his own body.

He spends his whole work day aroused. From the tension in his back, to the sneaky way his hand slips into his pocket to adjust his trousers slightly, to the lidded look his eyes get when someone plays well. Sammy hides this behind his wall of anger, snapping at people constantly, often ruining what would otherwise be a perfectly good recording.

Jack notices something especially unfortunate, at least for Sammy. The best musicians bring their own instruments, rather than use the studio ones. And since they don't record every day, those musicians always bring their instruments home with them. So the ones Sammy makes bedroom eyes at the most often, he never gets to touch.

Jack wonders how Sammy's mood would improve if he got laid. Well laid, not just rubbing himself off on the cool wood of the instruments. It must be exhausting to spend his life at half mast. He shakes his head as Sammy stops the whole band to snap at a cellist for falling out of tune. Jack has a good ear, but how in the world could Sammy even tell with the entire band playing?

Jack has trouble focusing on his poetry that evening, and finds himself at his desk late. Jack misses his fiddle. He went to play some new ones, but they just didn't feel right in his hands. If he were a more superstitious man, he'd say the violins rejected him. His old fiddle just seemed to settle on his shoulder, tucked in cozy under his chin.

He hears someone playing the piano. From the skill level, he's pretty sure it's Sammy. Jack decides to ask for his fiddle back. He'll just clean it best as he can, try not to think about it too hard, and start taking it home with him in the evenings like he should have been doing all along.

He goes out to the music room and sees Sammy playing with his eyes closed, obviously trying to unwind after another long day of sexual frustration. He spies his fiddle lying on the piano bench next to Sammy's hip, and wonders how many times Sammy’s used it since he shoved it at him. Sammy’s clearly still keeping it within arm’s reach after all. 

Jack decides to forgo asking and simply steps forward to take it. It's his, he paid for it. He shouldn't have to beg to take it back.

Sammy flinches when he notices Jack. And when the shorter man swoops down to snag his instrument, he can't help but to notice how badly Sammy is tenting his pants. The composer tries to casually rest his arm across it, but it's a feeble shield.

“Jack, what are you-” Sammy starts.

"I'm taking my fiddle back," he announces.

Sammy arches an eyebrow in response. Jack seemed so disgusted earlier. Has he changed his mind about the whole thing? "Even though you know-"

"I know my fiddle is better laid than I am, yes," Jack snaps. He sighs and wipes at his face. "Sammy… I don't quite get it, but I do think I’m starting to understand." He pauses a moment, then continues. "I want to play for you.” Jack isn't sure where that came from, but it's true. He wants to play a tune on his fiddle for Sammy, even though it seems like a surefire way to make the situation escalate. He hasn't exactly decided yet that he's forgiven Sammy, but he's somehow more frustrated by Sammy's current state than his previous betrayal. He checks the strings on both fiddle and bow as Sammy turns on the bench to face Jack, crossing his legs and leaning over his lap slightly.

As Jack starts to play, Sammy feels intrigued. Jack only plays the fiddle, but he's damn good at it. He sways slightly as he plays, dark brown hair looking as smooth as the instrument he plays. Jack's hazel eyes almost glow like honey, reflecting light and matching the hue of the rich reddish brown of his fiddle. And the notes that fiddle sings! Jack's bowing is steady, his fingers true on the strings.

Sammy can't help his excitement. As he watches, he uncrosses his legs and starts to palm himself through his pants. His breath picks up as Jack makes eye contact, his gaze steady as he watches Sammy touch himself.

Jack does care about Sammy. He's one of the few people who has seen his gentler side. The soft hearted lyricist doesn't like to see his friend in such a twist all the time. He only wants Sammy to be happy.  
The composer moans as he unbuttons his trousers to slip his hand in them. “You're such a slut,” he growls in a low voice, heavy with arousal.

“I don't know if you're talking to me or the fiddle, but it doesn't matter because you're the slut, Sammy. You are. It's you. You're the slut here.”  
Sammy's hips buck, and he jumps to his feet. Before Jack knows it, Sammy's right in front of him. He brushes his fingertips lightly on Jack's hips, then along his arms. Playing the fiddle takes a lot of movement, so Sammy is limited on how he can actually touch Jack. But he's holding the fiddle steadily enough that Sammy is able to touch and kiss it. He traces his fingers along the back of the violin, kissing its scroll. His tongue flicks out to tease a peg, the whole time making eye contact with Jack.

Sammy's standing so close to Jack that when he closes his hand over Jack's fingers to quiet the playing and leans forward to kiss him, Jack has little time to prepare. He stills as Sammy brushes his lips sweetly across Jack's. Then presses more firmly. Sammy's tongue lightly taps against Jack's lips, and almost of their own accord, they part to let Sammy in.

Holding the fiddle kind of awkwardly between them, Jack slowly relaxes into the kiss. He's a little surprised at Sammy's forwardness, but he expected something like this would happen. Had known it the moment he offered to play and it still didn’t stop him. So now here they are. 

Sammy's hand is still on Jack's fiddle, caressing it as his tongue dips in and out of Jack's mouth. The brunette has no illusions on what is turning Sammy on so much. Unlike Susie, he knows where Sammy's sexuality lies.

Sammy has never felt such attraction to a person before. He intertwines his fingers through Jack's so they both can hold the fiddle together. His other hand drops so he can pump himself. To Sammy's eyes, the short and stout Jack almost looks like an instrument, himself. His coloring, his musical talent, his sweet deep voice. Even the soft whimpers slipping from Jack's mouth and into Sammy's are in key.

When Sammy finally breaks the kiss, Jack gently pushes him back and onto the piano bench. A suspender slips from Sammy's shoulder as he shoves his pants down and sits his bare butt onto the bench. He reaches for Jack's fiddle, and the lyricist hands it over to him without hesitation. If Jack didn't know better, he'd say the fiddle is eager for what's about to happen. But that's nonsense... Right?

Sammy lies back on the bench, his head hanging over the far edge slightly. He presses the back of the violin to himself, pinning his erection down against his belly, and starts to hump it, fingers clutching the neck and chin rest tightly.

Jack isn't sure he's seen anyone as into the moment as Sammy is. He watches his friend and boss fuck his fiddle and finds that he wants to participate. To feel even a little of what Sammy is feeling. He doesn't remember undoing his pants, but his cock is in his hand now. He stands over the grunting composer and braces his hands on the piano bench on either side of Sammy's head. He lowers his body and tucks his hips, slipping his cock between Sammy's belly and his fiddle. The friction of Sammy's rutting makes Jack moan, and his own hips start to move. He's never touched his length to another man's, under a fiddle or otherwise, and the intimate contact makes his heart race. Even the feel of his balls resting on top of Sammy's excites him.

“Yes, yes!” Sammy whispers, joy lighting up in his eyes. Finally, someone who gets it, who understands him! Someone who will also couple with an instrument to seek pleasure. He's more excited by Jack's contact with the fiddle than their shared friction with each other. “Yes, Jack, yes, yesyesyesyes--” Sammy's muttering is cut short when he finishes hard, coating the back of the violin. Jack feels the wet warmth of Sammy's release, helping him slide easier, and a moment later, he finishes as well.

Jack sighs as he slowly straightens up from his half crouch, tucking his cock away. He takes the fiddle from Sammy's limp hands and flips it over to survey the damage. It's a mess, to be sure. He grabs a nearby tissue and starts to clean it.

Sammy takes a little longer to recover, but he finally tucks his dick back into his pants and sits up to watch Jack fuss over his fiddle. He likes the concerned look on Jack's face as his fingers work the fiddle. “Would you play a duet with me?” the blond asks.

Jack looks at Sammy's dishevelled hair and unbuttoned trousers. His heart warms as he finds the look endearing on his usually cold, stern boss. He nods and lifts his fiddle as Sammy starts an upbeat tune. They play together for about 20 minutes before Sammy recovers enough to be affected by their music. Jack quietly watches Sammy as they play. Sammy's own light blue gaze often shifts to Jack, enjoying the way his fingers move over the neck of his fiddle. The fiddle they both just had relations with moments ago.

As Jack suspects, Sammy has more in him. His knees part wide and soon he's clearly ready to go again. They make music for a few minutes longer, then Sammy jumps to his feet and rushes to the side of the piano, pushing his pants down once again.

Jack eyes the thin, pale butt cheeks of his friend as he starts to hump the piano. He steps up behind Sammy and pulls his cock out again, resting his package against Sammy's behind. As the composer thrusts, Jack finds himself tucked between his cheeks. He rests his fiddle between Sammy's shoulderblades to free up his hands. His fingers brush in the private spot between Sammy's cheeks and finds his tight hole. He plays with it a little, flicking and pressing against it.

When Sammy's moans only intensify, something comes over Jack. He spits as much as he can into his palm and slicks himself before taking firm hold of his cock and pressing the head right against Sammy's hole. He leans hard against the taller man, forcing his movements on the piano to still.

Sammy whines at the sharp pressure on his behind. He looks behind him to Jack, seeing the way his arms wrap around Sammy's waist to keep him still. He feels the piano against his chest and the fiddle pinned onto his back. It hurts. He knows that all he has to do to stop this is to say the words or push Jack back. But he doesn't want this to stop. He needs this, dammit. He needs this more than he needs air. If anything, he leans back against Jack to help him force his way inside.

The head of Jack's cock breaks through Sammy's muscles and pops inside.

Sammy cries out and jumps onto his tippy toes in avoidance. Pinned as he is, he can't go in any other direction except up. Jack slips his hands under Sammy's button up shirt to stroke his chest and hopefully calm him. But he quickly gets a better idea. Jack grabs his fiddle and, risking letting go of Sammy, starts to pluck it like a guitar.

It works. The music soothes Sammy almost instantly and he relaxes underneath Jack, who lowers his head to kiss the back of Sammy's sweaty neck. As he plucks a cheerful little tune, he keeps leaning against Sammy's formerly virgin hole, slowly sinking all the way in.

Jack has to stop to catch his breath. Sammy's so tight around him, the feeling is about to drive the man wild. He puts the fiddle back between their bodies and takes Sammy's hips in his hands.  
The composer feels Jack adjust to better fuck him, and shifts his hands on the top of the piano to brace himself. His hole stings terribly stretched tightly around Jack's cock, and his stomach is turning as he tries to adjust to the invasion of his body. He's positive that he's bleeding, and still has the presence of mind to be a bit embarrassed about that. Still, he spreads his feet further and shivers as the head of his rock hard cock rubs against the piano.

Jack starts rolling his hips, holding Sammy tightly to keep him still. He tries to start slow, but after a few pumps Jack loses control.

Jack's body slaps hard against Sammy's, who gasps and moans as he's taken for the first time. He paws at the piano as he's driven against the side of it rapidly. His knees knock against the wood, and the edge of the piano's top digs into his chest. He's getting pretty beat up, but damn it feels good to finally be bent over and fucked hard, along with their instruments. His body twists and bucks as he moans, desperate for more.

Jack clutches onto Sammy and enjoys the squirming. He realizes that Sammy's eyes are dilated from the intense mating, and Jack wonders if he's even able to hold a thought in his head right now. As it turns out, Sammy cannot. All he can do is cling to the piano and take it, his nerves firing off pleasure all over his body.

Then, with a cry, Sammy bucks hard against the piano as he paints the side of it. Spent, he leans against it to let Jack take what he needs from him.

Jack moves the fiddle over so he can brush his lips against Sammy's back. Sammy's shirt is sticking slightly to his skin, but that doesn't bother Jack in the slightest. He pauses for a breather, and to just feel himself fully sheathed in Sammy's body. Jack can feel he's close, and decides to jackhammer into Sammy's hole hard and fast. The low cries coming from Sammy drives him to finishing, which he does as deep inside Sammy as he can reach.

The pair stay like that for a long moment, then Jack slowly pulls out. Sammy doesn't move, and Jack realizes the man's legs are shaking. Jack quickly rights his clothes somewhat and goes to help Sammy. He lifts the spent man off the piano and sets him on the bench, helping him pull his clothes back into place.

“You're okay, Sammy,” Jack mumbles to him. “Probably just a little dizzy. When's the last time you ate something?”

Sammy is dizzy. He stays quiet and lets Jack take care of him.

A soft clang has the two of them looking over to a corner of the room that's deep in shadow. Norman kneels next to a projector, tools and parts scattered around his feet as he tinkers with it.

“How long have you been there?” Jack asks, shocked.

“Me, I've been here the whole time working on this busted projector. Y'all seemed so wrapped up in yourselves, I thought it'd be rude to interrupt,” Norman replies in a nonchalant voice as he continues to mess with the projector.

Sammy blushes a deep red and looks away. Jack sighs and shakes his head, then goes to clean the piano and check on his fiddle.

“Come on, Sammy, you beautiful slut. Let's get you home. You look like you could use some food and a long nap.”

Jack ends up bringing Sammy to his home, then staying with him. The composer looks so dazed that Jack doesn't feel right leaving him alone tonight. He manages to coax some toast and milk into him, then gets Sammy into his bed. Jack smiles at the banjo occupying the other side of Sammy's bed, and he carefully props it against the wall where Sammy can see it before taking its place. He curls up around the already sleeping Sammy. Jack plays with Sammy's now stringy, messy hair affectionately. He has no idea what will happen next, or what Sammy's mood will be when he wakes, but for now, Jack is content to sleep next to Sammy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The distinct lack of Jammy fics must be addressed!  
> More to come.


	3. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, credit goes to Pin for providing ideas, writing parts of this, as well as spending HOURS editing and polishing. They turned my rushed, horny writing into something that's actually presentable.

Sammy wakes slowly. He’s in his bed, but he’s almost too warm. There’s a weight on his side. He looks down at it and recognizes Jack’s hand. Right, Jack. They had group sex last night. Sammy feels a little guilty, not over the sex but for responding so well to Jack when he rejected Susie so harshly. 

It’s different, Sammy tells himself as he sets his hand on top of Jack’s. Susie kept trying to take what he could never give her, kept trying to force his body to respond to hers at the expense of the instruments he actually desired. She only wanted to make him take her to bed in the way she deemed normal. She didn’t understand at all. But Jack does. It makes all the difference. It couldn’t be more important. Sammy feels his guilt fade.

Holding Sammy from behind, Jack smiles when he feels the touch on his hand. With the taller musician finally awake, Jack allows himself to stroke up and down his back before slipping his hand under Sammy’s shirt to pet that alluring skin.

“What time is it?” Sammy mumbles.

“Just after seven.” 

Sammy groans grumpily. He really needs a few more hours of sleep. He rolls over to press his face to Jack’s chest. He feels Jack’s breath through his hair as the man presses kisses to the top of his head. Sammy’s so drowsy that he almost slips right back into sleep while so safe in Jack’s arms. But he needs to shower before work, so he groans a second time as he tries to rouse himself. 

“Where’s my banjo?”

“I put it right next to the bed.” 

Sammy accepts this answer without bothering to lift his head to look for it. Jack wouldn’t hurt an instrument; Sammy trusts him. 

“If I made you breakfast, would you eat it?” Jack asks. When Sammy nods, Jack presses a few more kisses to his forehead, then carefully disentangles himself to see how well stocked Sammy keeps his kitchen. A moment later, Sammy finally manages to get up to shower. 

Jack cooks up some eggs, toast, and some coffee. He sits next to Sammy and watches him eat as he nibbles on his own breakfast. 

Jack is a sea of swirling emotions that he struggles to keep in check. He’s always cared about Sammy, but now he’s been tipped head over heels and so many new feelings have hit fast and hard. He wants to touch Sammy, get in his space, kiss him, love him, push him down on the kitchen table and take him, but most of all, he wants to take care of the composer. Just seeing the man eat food that Jack made for him fills his chest with warmth. But Sammy is a stubborn, independent man who would toss Jack out on his ear before he would tolerate too much fussing or possession.

“Are you going into work like that?” Sammy asks, nodding towards Jack’s clothing. “You smell like stale sex.”

Jack grins and tugs at the clothes he slept in last night. “Don’t have much choice. Your clothes wouldn’t fit, and I don’t have enough time to go home. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Next time I’ll just have to strip naked to keep my clothes clean.” Of course, Jack’s casual mention of a next time is a way to feel out Sammy’s thoughts. 

“Which instrument are you attracted to the most?”

“Uh, I--” Jack isn’t really attracted to the instruments themselves. He likes seeing Sammy so aroused, and goes along with his kink to satisfy that need. He doesn’t want to alienate Sammy, though, or upset him. 

Sammy can read right through Jack’s uneasiness and sighs as he realizes Jack doesn’t actually share his kink. He finishes his coffee in silence and sets the cup aside. His disappointment is practically palpable, and Jack’s heart squeezes tight in his chest when he sees the glimmer that’s been in Sammy’s eyes go out like a light. 

“It will always be instruments and music for me, Jack,” Sammy says when he speaks again.

“I know that,” Jack tells him. “I’m not expecting to replace them. I just want to fit in somewhere. I just want you to let me love you.” Jack cracks a smile at Sammy. “Even if it means being second fiddle to my actual fiddle. Which, if nothing else, I hope you’ll let me play for you again.”

Sammy does want that. Listening to Jack play had been pure bliss, and nothing about Jack’s presence had made him feel threatened or panicked. Quite the opposite. Sammy thinks about his lips on Jack’s, and the way Jack had rubbed himself against his fiddle alongside Sammy. He feels his bruised chest and thinks about being sandwiched between Jack and the piano after their duet, drowning in pleasure from both of them.

Maybe it’s enough for Jack to understand even if he doesn’t experience the same arousal, Sammy hopes. 

Sammy doesn’t look quite as downhearted anymore, but Jack can tell his mood hasn’t completely recovered and he wants to fix that. He hates seeing Sammy in low spirits. “Would you like to play me a song? I haven’t heard you play on your own instruments before.”

“We have to go to work,” Sammy reminds Jack, but the lyricist can already see that his offer has Sammy perking back up again. 

Jack shrugs. “There’s no major projects due soon. We can be an hour late, just this once.” Jack stands and holds his hand out to Sammy, who takes it and lets himself be pulled to his feet. “Go into your bedroom. Which instrument shall I get for you?”

“The acoustic guitar,” Sammy says as he goes to get naked and sit on his bed. 

Jack smiles when he sees the naked Sammy, and hands him the guitar. He sits behind Sammy, legs wrapped around his hips and holding him as the man tightens the strings. Soon he’s strumming a pleasant tune, fairly slow in tempo to go with the mood. Jack simply holds him, watching over his shoulder as Sammy plays. Jack starts to undress as Sammy gets more into the playing, pressing kisses to his neck and lightly raking his back with his nails. 

Once again, Jack presses close behind Sammy, but this time he tucks his cock in Sammy’s crack when he scoots against him. Jack’s arms reach around Sammy, one to hold him, the other to pump him behind the guitar. Sammy leans back against Jack with a soft groan, happy to get stimulated while his hands are busy. Jack’s hips move slightly to rub himself in the warm, cozy space he’s in. 

They stay like that for a long moment, Jack nuzzling Sammy’s ear and listening to the sexual sounds coming from his throat. But then pre slicks his hand, and Sammy’s back is starting to arch as he holds the guitar tighter. 

But Jack isn’t ready for this to end. Moving with purpose, he takes the guitar from Sammy and lays it on the bed in front of them before pushing Sammy face down so he’s half on top of it. Sammy groans when the hard edge of the acoustic guitar bites into his ribs. He has other things to think about when Jack drops down to lick Sammy’s behind, making sure to get him slick as he uses a finger to tease him. 

Sammy blushes as he clings to the guitar, very glad he managed to get a shower before this treatment. It’s not long before Jack is mounting him, making his already sore body open again. Sammy whines in pain, but admittedly not compliant, and presses his face to his guitar, breathing hard. The cool, smooth wood and pleasant smell is as arousing as it always is to Sammy, and he moans as Jack sinks the rest of the way in. 

They’re already late for work and moments from climaxing, so Jack doesn’t waste any time even to let Sammy properly adjust. Sammy takes it well, though. Tears reflexively gather in the corners of his eyes, but he gives no protest as he cries out against his guitar. The weight of Jack pushing into him drives the instrument further into Sammy’s ribs, and out of fear of damaging it, he braces himself on his elbows to protect the guitar. This puts him face to face with it, a position that suddenly strikes Sammy as incredibly intimate. He gets the peculiar feeling that the guitar is the one slamming into him, and the thought has his stomach fluttering and cock throbbing. He cums, his body clenching tightly around Jack, who grabs at Sammy’s hips and drives into him once more before also finishing. 

The three of them cuddle while catching their breaths, Jack holding Sammy and Sammy holding the guitar. Jack is back to playing with Sammy’s hair, which is still damp from his shower.

“Now you really smell like sex,” Sammy comments.

“At least it’s not stale sex. You little slut.”

The need for clean clothes and a long shower forces Jack to go home on time after work. Sammy stays late as usual and Jack suspects the cello will receive his attention that evening based upon the looks he was giving it. Sammy has a clear preference for stringed instruments, though Jack has the feeling that there isn’t an instrument in the whole studio that Sammy wouldn’t rub himself on if he felt in the mood for it. 

Two days later, Jack ends up back at Sammy’s place. 

This time, the banjo doesn’t leave the bed. Sammy’s laying on his side, caressing it tenderly while Jack is wrapped around him and holding him at the waist. Jack finds that he doesn’t mind Sammy’s attention being focused away from him. He knows that he wouldn’t be in Sammy’s bed in the first place if the other man didn’t want him there. So he kisses the back of Sammy’s neck and enjoys the cuddling.   
Jack’s hands can’t help but wander eventually. He pets Sammy’s chest and arms as sweetly as Sammy pets his banjo, and Sammy accepts it without fuss. It encourages Jack and his hand sinks lower, settling lightly against Sammy’s erection. Sammy’s relationship with his personal banjo seems to be much more amorous compared to the rough way he uses most of the studio instruments, but the arousal it brings out in him is still the same. 

The question is already hanging there, but Jack asks out loud anyway.

“Do you mind?”

Their spooning is comfortable but there’s no way for Sammy to properly strum his banjo in this position, and Jack’s honestly not sure Sammy will tolerate his touch in light of that.   
Sammy is silent for what seems like a long time.

“I don’t mind,” he finally says, and Jack can tell by his tone that he means exactly that. It’s not a yes or a no. It’s not desire or rejection. It’s simply permission.

Jack does not arouse Sammy. The composer has no innate sexual craving for Jack’s touch, and Jack knows better than to expect Sammy to ever truly want him. Permission is the most he can ask for and he’s happy to have it. 

“Play something slow,” he whispers to Sammy. “Whatever you can.”

The banjo is resting vertically on the mattress, but Sammy can at least pluck the open strings with his fingernails. With only four notes to work with, the tune is as basic as can be. But Jack takes care to move his hand in rhythm. His fingers run up and down Sammy’s length in long stokes. 

All Jack wants is for Sammy to enjoy himself, and thankfully he seems to be succeeding in that endeavor. Sammy’s lips part to let out soft, breathy sighs that join in with the gentle notes being played. It’s not his usual horniness, but Jack isn’t demoralized by that at all. Just the opposite in fact. 

It soothes his heart to see Sammy this way, to see him so relaxed. To see him just be, well, happy. And to know that he is playing some part in that happiness makes Jack’s heart beat faster in his chest. He wants to give Sammy more of that, so much more. 

He kisses into Sammy’s neck again. “Tell me what feels good, Sammy,” he murmurs. “Play it for me.”

Sammy’s breath hitches and the notes increase slightly in tempo. Jack follows and does the same. Sammy’s the one physically in the middle, but it’s really the banjo that’s between them. The music, simple though it is, becomes a loop that flows through Sammy’s fingers, to the banjo, to the notes, to Jack’s ears, and then through Jack’s fingers back to Sammy again. 

It’s perhaps the strangest and yet oddly intimate sex Jack’s ever experienced. 

The loop breaks when Sammy climaxes, the notes abruptly halting as he cums into Jack’s hand. He pants lightly, and Jack pulls his hand away in order to clean it off. But the second he does, Sammy grabs his wrist instead and tugs it toward his chest. 

Suddenly Jack feels the strings of the banjo under his fingers. He can’t help but grimace a slight bit. It’s one thing to wipe off a solid piece of wood when it gets messy, quite another to have to painstakingly clean a fretboard. But it’s Sammy’s banjo so if he doesn’t care, that’s his business. Sammy’s fingers keep Jack from letting go anyway, gripping him tightly.

Jack pulls himself up a bit and lifts up his head over Sammy’s shoulder to try and figure out what he’s doing. Sammy’s thumb is hooked under the neck of the banjo and the rest of his hand is wrapped around both the instrument and Jack, cradling both against his chest. His eyes are tightly shut and his face is blushing heavily. Jack presses a kiss to Sammy’s red cheek and settles his head back down on the pillow. 

Time passes and the pair settles into a comfortable relationship. Jack frequently spends the night with Sammy, but not often enough to irritate the loner. Even more often, Jack stays late with Sammy to watch, or participate in, his usual evening activities. Even if he does nothing except wipe the sweat from Sammy’s brow afterwards, tug his clothes straight, and hold him for a while, Jack is happy. Their unusual relationship suits both of them. And if their activities are spied by a projectionist, well, Norman’s just happy his friends found each other.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As before, co authored and edited by the amazing Pin. 
> 
> I like how we keep adding to this, even though I never bothered to uncheck the "compete" box. It's complete until we inevitably keep going. How's that?

Neither man announces their new relationship. Sammy is a fairly private person, and Jack respects that. However, little instances begin to cue coworkers in. Small things, like Jack keeping Sammy well supplied with coffee, soft touches to the composer’s arm or wrist, or speaking about Sammy more warmly than the perpetually agitated man seems to deserve. When Jack starts to bring Sammy his lunch to make sure the composer is eating well, and they start to eat together instead of Sammy going off by himself, rumors really start to fly. Finally a clarinet player just asks Jack if the two are now a couple. Jack simply smiles, shrugs, and says yes. 

Jack admittedly can’t help but to be proud of his conquest. Sammy, while a handsome man, is a notorious loner. More than one person has tried to get close to him, even as a friend, and have failed. That sweet and friendly Jack, of all people, finally managed to claim Sammy comes as a surprise to the music department. Many had assumed Jack wouldn’t even last long under their harsh boss, but the lyricist proved to have exactly the right personality to handle the job. His easy going nature lets Sammy’s abrasive attitude and words slide off without bothering him. 

Jack gets no special treatment during work hours, though. Sammy still snaps at him just as often as he does everyone else, something on plain display as Jack walks at Sammy’s heels trying to discuss the newest song that needs lyrics. 

Sammy doesn’t even look at the music sheets Jack’s holding. “I’m not revising this song again. There’s nothing wrong with the melody.”

“I don’t know what contortion of syllables you expect me to fit into measures nine through fourteen, but it’s not happening.”

“That’s not my problem. You’re the lyricist. That’s your job.”

“Well it’s your job to write songs that are compatible with having lyrics in the first place. I can only do so much with this like it is.” Jack says it lightly and jokingly, but Sammy abruptly gets in the shorter man’s face and starts to scream at him in front of the whole music department.

“I could work better if you would stop being so noisy! I heard you playing your fiddle this morning. You know I was trying to concentrate! Our offices are not far apart, Jack! You need to be more considerate!”

Jack can’t help but to grin crookedly back at Sammy. He knows exactly why his playing is such a bother to his boss. “Was it a little distracting, Sammy? Did I perk your attention?” he teases. 

“Stop it!” Sammy snaps. He suddenly grabs Jack by the upper arm, and Jack’s eyes widen a bit in surprise. Not because it hurts. Far from it, in fact. Sammy’s fingers are squeezing him in the same way he might do while appreciating Jack’s fiddle playing. “You know what you’re doing. I can’t think with you being so loud.”

Sammy’s tone is razor sharp, but if anything that only makes his near gentle touch even more amusing to Jack. He can see that Sammy’s trying to keep up his anger, but he’s failing miserably. A blush is already creeping up into his cheeks, and he gives Jack’s well muscled arm another little squeeze. Jack struggles to keep from snickering.

“Let him go already, Lawrence!” A trumpet player finally speaks up, appalled by sight of what appears to be a very frightened Jack Fain cowering under Sammy’s violent grasp. The poor lyricist is even biting down on his lip to try and keep from crying out in pain. 

Realizing that they’re making a scene, Sammy lets go of Jack hastily, almost shoving him back a little. Without thinking about it, Jack reflexively rubs his arm where Sammy had grabbed it as he retreats, shaking his head slightly at the blond’s theatrics. 

As Jack escapes Sammy’s line of fire, a violinist speaks up. “Mr. Lawrence, please don’t hurt Jack. I know you two are… Involved, but that’s no reason to hurt him.”

Sammy looks at him, surprised. “Hurt him? I didn’t hurt him. I-”

Another band member speaks up, “You just grabbed his arm and shook him! Come one, there’s no need to physically push him around.” 

Sammy is baffled. He would never hurt Jack. And it’s not like Sammy makes a habit of touching his employees. He only took Jack in his hand because they are together. If anything, Sammy was being overly affectionate while yelling at his lyricist. He has no idea where these accusations are coming from.

Flustered at being verbally attacked by his musicians, Sammy mumbles an excuse and goes after Jack. 

The trumpet player watches Sammy retreat and then catches sight of Norman coming round a corner. “Polk,” he says. “You saw that, didn’t you? That wasn’t right.” If Sammy's willing to go twist Jack's arm in plain sight at work, the musician pities what else the poor lyricist must go through when no one’s around.

Norman’s expression stays neutral. “See what?” He asks flatly before continuing to head up to his projection booth. 

Sammy catches up with Jack and meets him in his office. It’s not much bigger than a closet, but at least there’s no giant window for everyone to stare into.

“So apparently you can be as affectionate as you want and no one bats an eye, but I’m practically accused of assault,” Sammy complains. 

“To be fair, it did probably look like you were hurting me,” Jack tries to tell Sammy..

“Hurt you?” Sammy scoffs. “You’re the one always hurting me, and I have the bruises to prove it. I’m still sore from earlier this week. You should see what you did to me.”  
Jack rolls his eyes. “What I did to you, huh? Completely my fault and not the piano’s whatsoever? I see how it is. I suppose you were expecting an apology too.”

“I really wasn’t, but it’d be nice,” Sammy grumbles.

“Well I’d hate for you to be holding a grudge against me,” Jack teases. He slowly unbuttons Sammy’s shirt to inspect the damage.  
A few deep purple marks adorn Sammy’s chest, tinged at the edges with greens and yellows. They do admittedly look pretty bad. Jack leans in and places a kiss on the worst looking bruise. 

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” he moves his lips and kisses another spot, “that you’re such a slut,” another kiss, “and that you are forced to deal with,” he moves to the other side of Sammy’s rib cage, “the consequences,” and then a little lower,” of your actions.” Jack presses one more kiss to the discolored skin.

“That wasn’t a real apology,” Sammy mumbles, his mouth turned down. 

Jack smiles up at him as he starts to button up Sammy’s shirt again. “No,” he agrees. 

Sammy knocks Jack’s hands away and finishes buttoning himself up. “If you can’t be nice, you can keep your hands to yourself,” he growls. 

Jack smothers another smile, very amused. Jack isn’t sure what exactly he did wrong other than tease his boyfriend a little, but Sammy is easily offended and often looks for reasons to get upset. The composer will get over it sooner rather than later. What’s funny to Jack is the idea that Sammy is somehow punishing Jack by cutting him off. Or even that Sammy could keep up such a thing. The man is always two seconds from full blown sexual arousal; Jack is pretty sure he could touch Sammy now and he wouldn’t be able to resist. 

Instead, Jack holds his hands up in a submissive manner. “I’ll let you get back to work, then,” the brunette says, still hiding his laughter as best he can. Laughing at Sammy will only make him grumpier. 

“You better. And I meant it when I said that I’m not rewriting that song again.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll figure it out somehow.”

“And keep your hands off that fiddle! I can’t concentrate with you two going at it all the time. You should be ashamed; the whole studio can hear you!” Sammy leaves Jack’s office in a huff.

After hours Jack goes to the music room, fiddle in hand. He finds Sammy speaking softly to the bass fiddle as he strokes it. His shirt is already untucked, and one suspender is off his shoulder. Sammy is just getting geared up, but thanks to his flushed cheeks and rumpled hair, he already looks like he’s been at it for a while. Sammy’s hand strokes up and down the neck of the large instrument like it’s a cock as he whispers dirty things to it. Jack gets closer. 

“You need this, don’t you? You need to be used, touched,” Sammy moans to it. “I want to hear your low, sexy voice. Why don’t you sing for me?” Sammy grabs the nearby bow and gets behind the bass fiddle, starting a nice, low tune. Normally it gets plucked to provide a quick bass line for the cartoon songs; having a bow used on it is a bit of a treat. 

Jack lifts his violin and starts an accompanying tune. The low and high notes twist around each other well, complimenting each other. Completing each other. Sammy is already tenting his trousers hard, and he shifts his position so he can hold himself against the body of the large, gently vibrating instrument. His bowing suffers slightly for it, but Sammy still manages to produce clean notes. 

After a few minutes of the duet, Sammy has to pause to undo his pants, resting the tip of his cock against the bass fiddle. His head tips backwards and his eyes are lidded, bathing in the bliss of the sounds. 

Jack watches as Sammy progresses steadily into his lust. The violinist wanders around Sammy, stepping closely behind him. He leans over to brush his lips lightly against Sammy’s ear. He can tell from his boss’s posture that it won’t be long now. Sammy’s hips are starting to jolt so he can rub himself against the bass fiddle, humping it. Not the most practiced at this particular instrument, Sammy’s playing starts to suffer as his posture gets worse and worse. Finally, he can’t stand it any longer. He sets the bow aside and lowers the bass to the floor onto a soft blanket he prepared, lying alongside it as he shoves at his bothersome clothing. 

Jack quickly folds his legs, lowering himself beside Sammy as the man starts to rut wildly against it. Jack puts his fiddle down in a nearby chair as he starts to stroke Sammy’s chest, rubbing his fingers along the edges of his bruised ribs and playfully flicking his nipples. After a moment of this, Sammy glares over his shoulder at Jack and slaps his hand away.

Jack chuckles and lies down behind Sammy, wrapping his arm around him. He licks at Sammy’s ear and goes right back to tracing his fingertips over Sammy’s sensitive skin, nuzzling the soft hair on the back of his head. The composer can’t keep his grudge. He melts under Jack’s talented fingers, groaning. His hips speed up, slapping himself against the smooth wood of the double bass. Jack sucks his fingers good and wet and teases at Sammy’s behind before pushing a finger inside. He curls it slightly, finding Sammy’s inner sensitive spot easily. 

Sammy cries out and clutches at the bass desperately. Jack feels Sammy clamp around his finger, and his breath catches. He knows exactly what he wants to do to Sammy, and he grins to himself. 

Jack is shorter than Sammy, but stouter. He can easily adjust Sammy into position, and he does so now, half picking the leaner man up and setting him over the bass fiddle. Sammy braces himself on his hands and knees, the bridge and strings of the instrument already digging into his belly, as he waits for Jack to mount him. His breath stutters, his body tense and aching, hips still twitching, ready to be driven hard and fast into the instrument.

It doesn’t happen. Sammy looks over his shoulder, bewildered.

Jack is standing a few feet away from Sammy, still dressed and with his hands in his pockets. He shrugs at his boyfriend, pretending that the sight of Sammy presented and ready to be taken isn’t exciting him. 

“It’s okay. I got the message, Sammy. I was hurting you, and I’ll stop now before you end up with any more bruises you don’t want.”

Sammy is so horny that he can feel the blood rushing hotly in his veins. He’s dizzy with need. All he can think about the lust burning in his gut. He can feel drops of sweat rolling down his sides as his legs tremble, lower back jutting his hips out for Jack. He finally has the bass fiddle exactly where he wants it, after a full day of the sexy thing calling to him. And now he’s being cock blocked. He needs to be bred. He NEEDS it. 

“Jack!” Sammy snaps. “Don’t you dare!”

“Don’t I dare hurt you, I know.”

“Jack!” His voice is less angry, more whining now. He’s getting increasingly desperate by the moment. 

“Sammy.”

Sammy presses his forehead against the double bass. He knows what Jack is doing. And he’s almost stubborn and proud enough to refuse to be baited into compliance. He can get off just with the instrument, after all. He’s done it often enough. He can still feel the ghost of Jack’s finger inside his body, though, touching that special spot. He craves the feeling of Jack’s warm skin against his back, wants to be fucked in a rough threesome. He whines as he adjusts slightly, squeezing his eyes shut. Sammy is incredibly vain, proud, stubborn, and difficult. There is only one trait of Sammy’s that is stronger than his personality: his sex drive. He breaks. 

“Jack, please! I need it! I need it so badly! Please fuck us. Please, Jack--” He’s practically sobbing as he begs. 

Jack grins widely at his victory. He quickly sheds his clothes and coats himself with some more spit and takes Sammy’s sweaty hips in his hands. The moment Sammy feels Jack getting into position, he moans and bucks his hips needily. Jack tightens his grip on his Sammy to still his movements, and pushes inside. 

Sammy cries out as his elbows buckle, driving the thick strings deeper into his skin, maring his throat and the side of his jaw as well. It still stings the first few moments after Jack’s entry, but the pleasure that follows is more than worth the pain. Jack starts to fuck him fast right away, and the whorish sounds that Sammy makes as he’s finally given what he craves is enough to even make Jack blush. 

Tears and spit roll down the rich reddish instrument as Sammy is driven into it. He manages to keep his legs locked to spare it the full weight of their bodies, but they’re still awfully rough with the bass. Sammy’s cock grinds into it with each thrust of Jack’s hips. He’s driven so hard into the instrument that the fretboard digs sharply into Sammy’s chest alongside the strings. Sammy finishes so suddenly that he cries out, but Jack doesn’t let up. The thick, hot cum makes his cock slide easier against the wood, and he remains hard. 

The overstimulation is so much that Sammy can only sob and try to breathe. It feels so damn good, yet every thrust hurts him inside and out. The head of his cock especially aches. 

Jack leans low over Sammy to whisper in his ear. “Don’t cry, Sammy. You sexy slut. I know you can take it. I know you need it. Once isn’t enough to satisfy you, is it? Once isn’t nearly enough.” He rakes his nails down Sammy’s back hard enough to leave red lines. Sammy howls in response, bucking his spine. “You enjoy being used hard by your instruments. They give it back exactly as rough as you give it, Sammy. It’s what you deserve.”

Sammy whimpers at Jack’s words. He knows he’s right. From the pain the bass fiddle is giving him, he can tell it’s enjoying the roughness of their coupling, using Sammy just as much as Sammy is using it. His legs start to cramp as his backside burns from Jack’s mating. Sammy lets out one last sobbing cry as he cums a second time, his exhausted body cramping badly all over with the release. When Jack feels Sammy clench around him once again, he can’t hold back any longer. Jack pushes as deep inside as he can and finishes inside his boss, filling him. 

He stays like that a long moment, keeping Sammy pinned down in his painful position. He kisses the back of Sammy’s neck, then finally lets him up. Sammy rolls off the oversized fiddle with a weak moan, spent. 

Jack stands and looks down at Sammy, shaking his head slightly at the pathetic sight. A fresh, long bruise is already forming up and down his chest and stomach, stretching over his neck and ending near his ear. Jack knows Sammy will do nothing but bitch about it later, but they’ll both know he asked for it.

Jack starts the process of cleaning up. He can tell Sammy won’t be able to move for a while. He carefully wipes Sammy’s fluids off the double bass and puts the large instrument and bow away. He picks up his own fiddle next. But instead of putting it away as well, Jack begins to play it again.

The unexpected sound of music starting back up has Sammy confused. “Jack? What are you doing?” The fiddle is making such sultry sounds but after two orgasms in a row, Sammy’s cock is officially out of commission. He weakly lifts his head up to pout at his boyfriend. “Stop teasing me.”

“Not everything is about you, Sammy,” Jack says pointedly. “Which is a lesson I might as well try to get through your head since we have some time. You apparently have this woefully mistaken notion that I play my fiddle solely to arouse and torment you. When I play during work hours, it’s because I’m practicing. Like anyone with an instrument needs to do. And quite frankly, it’s ridiculous for you to get so bent out of shape over me playing a few warm-ups and practice exercises. So let me show you the difference, Sammy.”

Jack continues the sensual tune and slips into an ascending scale that makes Sammy breathe heavier as each note lifts higher and higher. Like the fiddle itself yearns for release. Jack looks down at Sammy and holds his gaze as he draws out the last quivering note. He flashes Sammy a little smirk before he suddenly drags the bow back across the strings and begins sawing on the fiddle so fast Sammy nearly gets whiplash from it.

Sammy’s ears take in Jack’s playing eagerly, but his body is too exhausted and sore to become aroused. The blood rushing in his veins has nowhere to go and Sammy lets out a whine. All he can do is awkwardly cup himself and even that nearly chafes too much to handle. But even in his torment, Sammy can’t help but want the music to continue. Jack’s fingering is nimble and his speed is relentless, and the fiddle responds with cries of sheer ecstasy that makes Sammy moan just listening to it.

The instrument plays with pure euphoria under Jack’s touch, and the fact that the fiddle is enjoying itself so much only adds to the eroticism for Sammy. He wants to stroke himself so badly but the slightest attempt makes him flinch in pain. It’s too much to take, but Sammy’s never heard Jack play anything so hypnotizing and it’s so good and he wants to enjoy it properly but he can’t. He can’t only lie there and take it, measure after measure washing over him until Jack finishes on a sudden final note and it's over as abruptly as it began.

Sammy is panting raggedly, practically gasping for air. His head is limp against the blanket under him. He stares up at the ceiling in a daze that only breaks a bit when Jack’s face leans over him and then bends down to press a soft kiss to Sammy’s sweaty forehead.

“I’m glad we got that cleared up,” he smiles. “Now come on. Let’s get you home.” Jack sets his fiddle aside and stands over Sammy, leaning down to help him up.

“Jack!” Sammy snarls, furious. “You’re a fucking tease!”

Jack straightens, a little surprised at the fury in Sammy’s voice. 

“How dare you treat me this way! You’re mean. Abusive! Can you stop teasing me, using my needs against me?” Sammy jerks the corner of the blanket over him, covering his half undressed body. His face is flushed, and his body language is an odd mix of anger and exhaustion.

Jack crosses his arms and listens to his boyfriend’s raging with a slight smile. As always, he finds Sammy’s moods more endearing than anything. He does wonder if he went a little too far by trying to train Sammy in two lessons in the same session. But if Jack doesn’t work on Sammy, the man would truly be insufferable. The composer may not like it, but he will be happier once he understands basic human interaction. If nothing else, they’ll fight less if Sammy can behave better. Jack sighs when he sees the tears on Sammy’s face, and quickly realizes the blond is too tired to deal with his own emotions. He needs tending to.   
Jack fetches a clean towel and kneels down beside Sammy, who’s fussing at his clothes, but is too upset to really get anywhere with them. Jack takes Sammy in his arms, who cries and struggles slightly, too mad at Jack to want this. Jack easily works around Sammy’s struggles, though, and starts to slowly wipe him down, starting with his face. Just like the instruments, Sammy too needs cleaning. He soon stops struggling and just whimpers in Jack’s arms as he lets the man clean and comfort him. 

Jack wipes Sammy’s damp face dry, brushing his hair more or less back into place as he does so. Then goes over his neck, and down his chest. He doesn’t remove any more clothing, but works in the space of Sammy’s unbuttoned shirt. 

“You worthless thing,” Jack mumbles, pressing his lips to Sammy’s hair as he continues to comfort him. “Don’t worry. I’ll play for you like that again when you can truly enjoy it. I promise.”

Once Sammy’s torso is wiped down, he sets the towel aside and buttons the shirt back up, tugging Sammy’s trousers back in place as he does so. His boss is quiet now, soothed. Fairly sure Sammy isn’t going to protest any longer, Jack helps him up and takes him home. They can continue their aftercare while safe in Sammy’s bed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credit goes to co author and editor, Pin.  
> Yes, there is still more to come. Jammy has taken over.

Jack’s head is buried down in his notebook as he walks. His mind is swimming with words and phrases that he can tell will make for a good song, and he doesn’t want to wait to get to his office to start jotting them down. Better to get them on paper as soon as possible. 

Distracted as he is, he doesn’t realize where he’s going until he abruptly bumps into someone and suddenly snaps his head back up. 

“I’m sorry!” He says automatically. 

Norman looks down at him. “Lucky you ran into me and not right into the wall.” He gestures to Jack’s book. “Got something good, I take it?”

Jack relaxes when he realizes it’s only Norman and smiles. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Going to go win another award?” Norman teases, only for Jack to give a perplexed chuckle in return. 

“Another award? What’s that supposed to mean?”

His expression is too confused to be anything other than genuine. “You know, that shiny little plaque for one of those songs you wrote?” Norman tries.

Jack just blinks. “One of the songs I wrote with Sammy? We got an award? When? And how did you find out?”

“I found out when Mister Drew went parading around with it in here.” Norman cannot believe Jack has no clue. “What, were you up in that sewer hole of yours or when it happened or something? And for that matter, Sammy never said anything? The arrogant jackass rarely passes up the opportunity to flatter himself.”

“No.” Jack has no memory of any of this, and Sammy certainly never uttered a word about it. “What song was it?”

“Hell if I remember,” Norman says. “It was weeks ago.”

Jack shakes his head incredulously. “Huh. I mean... Well, thanks for telling me, Norman,” he says with honest appreciation.

He hurries to scribble down a few more words and then all but runs over to Sammy’s office.

Jack finds his boss bent over his desk, music playing quietly from his radio as he grumbles over the schedules. Just Jack’s luck that he catches Sammy in the middle of his least favorite task: managing his employees. “Sammy?” Jack says softly, gently brushing his fingertips against the light hair that Jack finds so appealing. 

“Hm?” As is fairly common, Sammy doesn’t look up at Jack or otherwise acknowledge him. 

“Did we win an award?”

Sammy huffs a bit as he finally looks up from his papers. “Technically, no, we did not. Joey’s name is on it, not either one of ours. Even though it was my song, and your lyrics, that won it. Didn’t stop Joey from acting like an insufferable idiot over it. Acting like he’d earned it.”

Jack can see how frustrated Sammy is over the whole thing, but the lyricist can’t help to just feel proud and happy that his work, no matter who claims it, is good enough to be award winning. “Sammy, we should celebrate!”

“What’s there to celebrate?” Sammy glares down at his paperwork as if intimidating it will make it do itself. 

“Humor me. Why don’t you come over to my place tonight for some drinks?”

“I’d rather you come to mine.”

“We always go to yours. Come on, Sammy, I’ll play my fiddle the way that drives you crazy.”

“You’re both welcome to come over to my apartment.”

“The good liquor is at my place,” Jack reminds Sammy. 

“Then we can pick some up on our way-”

“Sammy!” 

The blond sighs dramatically and glowers up at Jack. “What?”

“Please, just this once, can we do what I want to do? Please?” Jack gathers a handful of Sammy’s hair and twists it, lightly tugging it back and out of Sammy’s face. “Why don’t you want to come over?”

“I like my home. And my banjo is there.”

“You’ll have my fiddle. And I’ll make sure you’re comfortable.”

For a long moment, neither man says anything. Jack waits, assuming he’s lost this battle, when Sammy sighs a second time. 

“Fine.”

Jack grins brightly and leans down to press a kiss to Sammy’s forehead. “This is long overdue. I think we really need this.” 

“Whatever you say. Can I get back to work now?”

Jack gives Sammy’s forelock one last affectionate tug, then leaves him growling over his desk. 

The band didn’t record today, so that evening it’s easier for Jack to tow Sammy away from the studio instruments and directly to his apartment. To keep Sammy somewhat happy, the older man allows his boss to carry his fiddle on the way home. Sammy’s already complaining when they walk in the door. 

“I don’t know why you want to be here so badly. My place is bigger.”

“Yeah, because you make more money than I do,” Jack replies, trying his best to be patient. “It’s still my home. I like to be here for the same reason you like to be at your home.” Sammy complains, Jack reminds himself. His grumpy nature is not going anywhere, so Jack lets his own good nature take over. He pauses in the kitchen to mix a pair of drinks and hands one over to Sammy. “To us,” he says, making a little toast.

Sammy doesn’t return it. “If you say so,” he says before taking a long sip.

“I do say so,” Jack insists. “We still earned it, Sammy. I know it pisses you off that your name isn’t on it and you can’t hang it up next to your other awards, but it’s still an accomplishment.”

“I wouldn’t have hung it up anyway,” Sammy grumbles. “Those other awards were for actual music, not a cheap tune for an animation show.”

Seeing that Sammy’s determined to stay in a bad mood about it no matter what, Jack gives up. 

“Fine,” he shrugs and holds up his glass again, still holding onto his smile. “To a decent excuse to enjoy some good booze then.”

Sammy just looks at the fiddle case and it’s clear his mind is on only one thing.

“At least finish this one drink with me first,” Jack says.

Sammy looks back down to his drink and brings it up to his lips, tilting his head back and knocking it all down at once. He sets the empty glass down on the counter. “Done.”

“Eager slut.” Jack goes ahead and drains half his glass. “Alright, fine, come on. Before I get too tipsy to play properly.”

They move over to the living room and Sammy settles down on the couch, looking to Jack eagerly. It’s the only enthusiasm the composer’s shown all day, and it helps to brighten the mood back up some. Jack takes another sip and sets his drink aside before tightening his bow and lifting his fiddle, playing a few quick warm ups before throwing himself into the music. Sammy thrives on passionate playing, and Jack is happy to deliver. 

The truth is, when Jack plays for his boyfriend, he takes just as much enjoyment from Sammy’s arousal. They feed off each other in a positive feedback loop. And soon, Jack’s playing with all his heart and soul while Sammy’s half undressed and pumping himself with a spit slicked hand like a madman. 

For Sammy, the difficult part is when to stop the playing. He loves watching Jack, loves hearing the sultry notes. They’re so pleasing to Sammy’s sensitive ears. But his lust takes over so quickly, and to satisfy himself, the music has to stop. He tries to pace himself, and fails miserably. 

“Jack!" Sammy cries, one hand still working himself while he stretches the other out in a plea. The brunette stops playing and hands the fiddle over. Sammy doesn’t waste any time. The fiddle is clamped firmly against Sammy’s erection and he starts rubbing himself. 

Jack flinches a little as he settles down next to Sammy. Sometimes his boyfriend goes at it so hard, he’s not sure how he doesn’t have friction burns all over his cock. Jack wiggles as closely as he can, trying to find a way to join Sammy. But the way he’s nestled down into the couch cushions blocks Jack from interacting much at all. 

“Sammy,” Jack whines as he tries to worm his way into the fun. 

“Jack,” Sammy moans, but otherwise ignores his attempts to join in. “Oh, Jack, you feel so nice on my cock,” his back starts to buck and his breath hitches. Jack knows Sammy’s about to cum, but he’s so thrown off by Sammy’s words that he just sits there, brow wrinkled in confusion. “Jack, oh fuck, let me use you. Let me-- Jack!” Sammy’s motions still as he finishes on the fiddle, then slumps back with a sigh. 

Jack turns to pick up his glass and takes a deep pull. He knows Sammy will probably be ready to go again soon, but he can’t help but to feel disappointed at being cockblocked by his own fiddle. He worked hard, after all, playing for Sammy. “Would you like another drink?” Jack asks, looking down into his now empty glass. When Sammy just hums in reply, he stands to mix more. 

By the time Jack returns with refreshed drinks, Sammy has cleaned up and is now cradling the fiddle lovingly in his arms, brushing his lips across the strings. Jack sets Sammy’s drink down on the coffee table and sits next to his boyfriend, slowly rolling his own glass between his hands. 

“So… Were you calling my fiddle my name? Or were you talking to me?” 

Sammy blushes and quickly avoids looking directly at Jack. He leans forward and takes a sip to buy himself some time. Jack simply waits. “It’s stupid. Don’t worry about it.”

“Of course it’s stupid. Because whatever it is, it came from your head.” Jack shifts on the couch so he’s better facing Sammy. “Tell me anyway.” 

Sammy hesitantly glances over at him. “I love instruments.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“And you are….” He struggles over his words and trails off. 

“Not an instrument,” Jack finishes for him. He’s well aware of that too. 

“But you are. You’re a fiddle.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “I play a fiddle.”

“You play a fiddle. You are a fiddle. Close enough,” Sammy says defensively. “Besides, you look just like your fiddle. It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes. You kind of blend together. It’s...easier to think of you like that anyway.”

The lyricist shakes his head as he looks away from Sammy. “You truly are a stupid slut,” he remarks, trying to wrap his head around this little revelation. “Wouldn’t a bass fiddle be more fitting?” He asks after a moment. “I mean, that’s the entire point of it. That’s it’s a fiddle but larger. Makes more sense for me to be a taller instrument compared to my actual one.”

“Wrong octave. You’re too nasally,” Sammy dismisses immediately. 

Jack already knows he probably shouldn't bother trying to think too hard about this. Sammy more or less invents his own logic. 

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you pretend I’m an instrument.”

“You are an instrument,” Sammy repeats.

“Right. Because that’s ‘easier’ to you,” Jack mutters. He’s starting to feel defensive as well, even though he’s fairly certain Sammy means no harm. He takes another deep hit of liquor. “Well, at least I’m an instrument that gets to share your bed. That makes me your favorite one, right? Or, second favorite, I guess?” Jack doubts he’ll win in a contest against Sammy’s banjo.

“You’re my seventh favorite instrument.”

Jack very nearly chokes, but he manages to give a deadpan that would have made Norman proud. “Wow. Seventh. Don’t I feel special. What are--”

“My plectrum, my tenor, the studio piano, my guitar, a different violin, that one studio bass, and then you," Sammy lists.

“So not only am I not even in the top five, I’m not even your favorite violin?” 

“Sarah’s violin is my fifth favorite,” Sammy explains, referring to a different employee. He looks to his boyfriend like that should be obvious. “You’re an excellent player, Jack, don’t get me wrong. But there’s a  
reason you’re a lyricist and not in an orchestra.”

“Yeah, and there’s a reason you work at Joey Drew Studios and not with an orchestra,” Jack mumbles low enough that even Sammy’s ears can’t entirely pick it up. But Sammy can still tell Jack’s mood is souring.

They both finish their drinks in silence. 

“I don’t understand why you’re upset about it,” Sammy finally says. “Just because you’re a fiddle doesn’t mean you’re not still Jack.”

“You stupid slut.” Jack’s voice isn’t even angry, just hurt and beginning to slur his words. “You can’t just sit there and call me an instrument. You dote on instruments. You kiss them, stroke them, compliment them, whisper dirty things to them. You try to make them happy because you care about them. You don’t treat me half as well as you would an instrument, Sammy. The difference between me and my fiddle is that you came over tonight for my fiddle, not me.”

“Coming over for your fiddle is still coming over for you,” Sammy argues. “You’re the same.”

“Then fuck me.” 

The words hang heavy as soon as they're spoken, and Sammy stills. He looks as frozen as a rabbit who sees a shadow fly overhead. 

“If I’m a fiddle, then fuck me like one,” Jack goes on. “I hardly ever even get to see your face when we have sex because all your attention is elsewhere. So fuck me like a fiddle if I’m really just another instrument to you. Because being fucked like a seventh-rate studio fiddle would still be more attention than you’ve given me all night.”

Sammy stares at Jack, face blank. On the inside, though, all he feels is panic and fear. He knew this would happen one of these days. Jack would get bored, the novelty of dating his boss would die, and Jack would crave a normal relationship. A relationship that Sammy can’t provide. 

Sammy stands, gently setting Jack’s fiddle back in its case. “I’m leaving.” He fusses briefly with his shirt, acting like he’s going to take the time to tuck it back in, then changes his mind and heads towards the door. 

Jack quickly stands and reaches out to grab Sammy’s wrist. “Sammy, wait.”

“Don’t touch me!” Sammy snaps in reply, yanking his hand away. “I always knew things would end up like this. But I was still dumb enough to let you get close. You’re right, Jack. I am a stupid slut.” His tone is furious, but there are tears in his icy blue eyes as he turns towards the door. 

“Sammy, sit down. You don’t need to throw a tantrum. Let’s just talk about this like adults.”

“The only thing I need to do is go home to my banjo. We're done, Jack. It's over. So leave me alone!” Sammy slams Jack’s door behind him and hurries off to the safety of his own apartment. Outwardly, Sammy keeps a calm demeanor, but on the inside, he feels like he’s dying. He manages to keep his cool right until the door of his apartment closes behind him. 

Sammy’s face crumbles. He leans against the door for a moment, hands over his eyes, and tries to deal with the empty space in his chest. Then he flees to his bedroom, shedding his clothes as he goes. He dives into bed, naked, and curls around his banjo. 

“It’s okay. We knew this was going to happen. It was always just a matter of when. We’ll go back to the way we were before. The way we’re supposed to be,” Sammy mumbles to his banjo. He can’t stop the tears rolling down his face, though, or the feeling that his bed feels very cold and empty. “It’s my fault, anyway. I shouldn’t have gotten involved. And I really shouldn’t have told Jack that he’s a fiddle. I just… I just thought he understood.” Sammy tightens his grip on the banjo. In a life largely empty of human relationships, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this lonely.

The next day at work is odd, to say the least. Jack and Sammy avoid each other, but the composer has trouble focusing on his work. Sammy keeps thinking he sees Jack approach him from the corner of his eye, perhaps with a cup of coffee or to bother him with something dumb. But when Sammy turns to look, Jack isn’t there. 

It gets worse when it’s time for lunch. It’s not until Sammy sits down alone in his office does he realize that Jack is not coming with lunch. He rests a hand on his stomach and tries to convince himself that he’s not that hungry, anyway. He used to skip lunch fairly often, but he’s gotten into the habit of eating with Jack. 

Sammy folds his arms on the desk and settles his head on them. It’s all Jack’s fault, Sammy decides. He was completely upfront with Jack. He never lied or misled the man. Jack is the one who decided he can’t handle it. Who led Sammy on, made him comfortable in a relationship, made him reliant on Jack, then jerked the rug from underneath him. Sammy tries to get angry. Being mad is a comfort to the musician, a security blanket to hide his emotions under. But he has trouble getting mad at Jack. He just feels sad, heartbroken. He wants things to be like they were before. Before their fight or before they were together, either way. Just as long as this hurt goes away. 

Sammy is hungry. He decides to see if anyone was foolish enough to leave their lunch unsupervised in the break room refrigerator. 

After hours, Sammy decides to get back into his old routine. There’s no point in moping and dragging this out. The sooner he re-establishes his sense of normalcy, the better. He wanders the band room, idly touching this instrument, then that one. It’s unusual for Sammy to feel this indecisive. Normally he knows exactly which one he wants to fuck. 

Sammy’s attention is drawn to the doorway as a familiar form walks past it. It’s Jack. But instead of joining Sammy for his after work activities, the lyricist walks right by without even a glance. 

Sammy sighs and presses his forehead against the piano. He’s just not feeling it tonight. He’s too sad, too lonely. For a minute, Sammy considers just going home and going to bed so he can be done with the day already. Then Sammy realizes that Jack didn’t have his fiddle with him. Well, if Sammy and Jack aren’t together anymore, that doesn’t mean Sammy and Jack’s fiddle have to break up, too. The ache in Sammy’s chest eases a bit. As long as he has Jack’s fiddle, he still has Jack.

Sammy goes to Jack’s office and finds the fiddle resting unsupervised on the lyricist’s desk. Sammy eagerly opens the case and brushes his fingers over the delicate instrument. He lifts it and cradles it to his chest. But there’s something wrong. It feels cold in Sammy’s arms. The wood normally feels pleasantly cool to the touch, but now it feels chilly in a different way. Dismissive. When Sammy tries to kiss it, that feeling only gets worse. 

“What’s with you today?” Sammy asks. “Perhaps you need a little warming up.” 

The blond lifts the fiddle without checking the strings first; he knows Jack keeps it in tune. But when he draws the bow across the strings, a horrid shriek sounds, hurting Sammy’s ears and setting his hair on end. Sammy gasps in surprise and pain. He checks the bow, making sure the horse hair is tight enough and there’s not too much rosin on it. No, everything seems fine. He must have made a mistake. 

Sammy tries again, and gets the same result, only worse. He doesn’t understand. Jack’s fiddle isn’t broken, and Sammy is a competent enough player. He tries to power through it, hoping something in either him or the fiddle will loosen up and the problem will fix itself. His ears can’t take it for long, though, and he stops. Sammy holds the instrument by its narrow waist and looks at it, frowning. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks with concern. Violins are some of the most temperamental and sensitive instruments. Something has agitated it badly for it to be acting out this way. “Are you… Are you mad at me?” 

Sammy realizes the answer immediately. Jack’s fiddle wants nothing to do with him. In spite of all the relations they’ve shared in the past, the instrument refuses to be touched by him now. 

It’s like a knife right into Sammy’s heart. It’s bad enough dealing with Jack’s rejection, but the fiddle too? Hands shaking, Sammy puts the violin back. He’s never had an instrument be this upset with him, much less be rejected by one. At the worst, he’s had instruments be moody and fussy over feeling neglected. This is something else entirely. 

He closes and latches the case, then rests his hands on top of it. He can’t deal with this. He’s used to people being upset with him, but he can’t have an unhappy violin in his department. If Jack wants to dump Sammy, and turn his fiddle against him, then both Jack and his fiddle need to go. There’s no need to say anything to Joey either, not this time. Sammy doesn't fear any retaliation from Jack, so there's no need to be underhand. He can simply fire the lyricist and his instrument as is Sammy's right to do as director of his own department. Jack won't tell anyone Sammy's secret. Jack wouldn’t do that. Jack is too kind and caring and gentle and--

Sammy picks up the violin case and heads to Jack’s place. He wants to get this over with now.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Pin for co writing and editing!  
> Sorry this is kinda very late. A lot happened since the last chapter, including me meeting Pin irl. Of course they're just as lovely in person as they are online. I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Jack opens his door and doesn’t look surprised to see Sammy before him. Sammy twists the handle of Jack’s fiddle case in his hands. The whole trip over, he managed to work himself up into a rage, hurt and betrayed at what he’s now forced to do. But the moment he looks into Jack’s honey warm eyes, that fury melts away. Jack always could see right through Sammy. 

“Sammy, if this is about the fiddle, you don’t have to ask. I don’t care what you do with it anymore.” Jack’s voice sounds tired. “Hell, you can keep it. I won’t take it back again.” 

“It’s… It’s not that.” Sammy’s own voice is quiet, almost timid. His eyes drop to Jack’s feet. “It’s mad at me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your fiddle. It’s very unhappy with me. I can't even use it, much less keep it, because it's chosen you.” Sammy shoves the violin at its owner, knocking it into Jack’s breastbone hard enough to hurt. Jack grunts as he takes it. 

Sammy opens his mouth, fully intending to fire Jack on the spot. Instead, something else spills out. “Jack, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Maybe… Maybe we should do that thing you wanted to do?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to hold back tears.

It takes Jack a moment to figure out what Sammy means. “You mean talk?”

“Yeah… That.”

Jack sighs and steps back to let Sammy in. 

Sammy doesn’t know what to do with his hands. They’re in his pockets at first, but he’s too anxious to keep them there. He looks to Jack with huge eyes, fingers moving around uselessly before he finally clasps his hands together.

Opposite of Sammy’s nervous fidgeting, Jack is calm, almost stoic. He sets his violin case aside and keeps his arms crossed as he waits. He looks back at Sammy silently. A long moment passes. 

“Well?” Jack finally asks. “What do you want?” 

After a long, emotional day at work, and being pinned by Jack’s eyes, Sammy breaks down. He simply can’t contain himself anymore. He howls as he bursts into tears, diving forward towards Jack. 

Jack fumbles a bit to catch him, grunting a second time as, once again, a hard object collides with his chest. He gets his arms around Sammy and heads for the couch. 

Sammy entrusts his weight to Jack, letting himself be moved. Sammy is hysterical. Beyond saying actual words, he just sobs, pausing only to make gross, snotty gulps. Jack gets to the couch and sits back, dragging Sammy over and on top of him. Clinging face down on Jack’s chest, Sammy does his best to completely soak the lyricist’s shirt, wailing incoherently as he does so. 

Jack's never seen the composer so helplessly out of control of his own emotions. He squeezes Sammy tightly with one arm and uses the other to pet him. 

“You pathetic, useless thing,” Jack mumbles gently. “Couldn’t even last a whole day, could you? Did you get any work done today? Did you even eat anything today? You’re so worthless, you can’t even take care of yourself.” 

Sammy takes a long time to calm down even a little. His wailing eventually does quiet to hoarse, hiccuping whimpers. He’s simply too worn out to keep emoting so strongly. 

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Jack says. “You’re the one in control, here. You broke up with me, remember? You have the ability to fix this.”

“I can’t! Jack, I can’t do it. I can’t be n-normal!”

Jack snorts. “I know that. I’m not asking you to be normal, Sammy. I’ve never asked that. I just want you to be a little more considerate of me. Think about me sometimes.”

“I-if I make you so miserable, w-why would you want to date me?” Sammy’s raw voice is muffled by Jack’s wet shirt. 

“Because I love you, you stupid slut.”

“If you love me, why are you always calling me a stupid slut then?” 

Jack blinks. Neither of them have ever spoken the word love to each other, even though Jack’s felt it in his heart since that first night with Sammy. He’s always been careful never to let it slip for fear of overwhelming Sammy or driving him away. But now that he’s gone and finally said it, very deliberately to make his point, Sammy accepts it without comment except to whine about Jack’s nickname for him.

“Because it’s not in me to call you honey buns, you dumb slut,” Jack answers. “But to be perfectly clear, I don’t think you’re actually stupid. You just have a very strange way of looking at our relationship and a ridiculous sense of logic.”

Sammy sniffles. “So you don’t think I’m a slut?”

“Oh, no, you’re a slut. Just not always a stupid one.” Jack squeezes the back of Sammy’s neck. “I still love you. But... I don’t know if you feel the same way.”

Sammy peels his face off of Jack’s chest long enough to look up at him, face bright red and eyes swollen from crying so much. “How can you say that? I let you do things no one else ever could. Like have sex, share my bed, and touch my banjo.” 

Jack knows without Sammy saying that that last one is the most personal to Sammy, and the biggest deal. “Then why don’t you do anything for me? I’m always doing things for you, Sammy, and most of the time you take what I give without even looking at me.” 

Sammy presses his face back to Jack’s chest and sniffles some more. He doesn’t really have an answer. To Sammy, just letting Jack close is a big enough sign of his love. Why should he have to say it, or perform acts of service? 

“You’re exhausted,” Jack continues. “And you have a lot to think about. Come to bed and get some sleep. You’ll be able to think better in the morning.”

“Will you come with me?”

“Well I’m not sleeping on the couch, if that’s what you mean.” Jack lifts Sammy up and helps him into the bedroom. The lyricist removes his soggy shirt, but otherwise the pair remain clothed as they settle into bed. Once again, Sammy curls against Jack’s chest, and falls asleep before Jack is even done adjusting his pillow.

Jack doesn’t sleep well that night. He’s well aware that this could be the last night he gets to hold Sammy, so he doesn’t want to sleep through it all. It’s Saturday, so no alarm sounds in the morning. Jack waits patiently for his ex to wake naturally, figuring he needs the extra sleep. He fiddles with Sammy’s collar as he waits, just enjoying his company. 

Eventually, Sammy does wake. But he doesn’t say anything for a good half hour. Jack keeps waiting, letting the composer collect his thoughts. Finally Sammy speaks up. 

"You can fuck me."

That’s not exactly what Jack was expecting to hear. “Excuse me?”

“You can fuck me,” Sammy repeats. “The normal way. No music. Just the two of us.”

As appealing as having regular sex on the bed sounds, Jack shakes his head.

“I won’t do something you don’t want, Sammy.”

“I want you in my life, Jack. If that means I have to give you this, then it’s worth it.”

Jack huffs. “You don’t have to do anyth-”

“Damnit, Jack, I want to!” Sammy snaps. “But I’m not going to beg you.”

As usual, Jack finds Sammy’s abrasiveness more amusing than anything. Well, he’s not going to turn down Sammy’s invitation, unconventional as it is. It’s probably the only one Jack will ever get in their entire relationship. Starting slowly, his fingers brush over Sammy’s shirt. He wants to savor this. He presses his face into the soft blond hair, breathing in the smell of his natural oils and scent. Sammy is definitely due for a shower, but Jack doesn’t mind. If anything, the lack of masking shampoo somehow makes this feel more intimate. 

Jack rolls on top of his ex, continuing to run his fingers wherever they please and press his closed lips against Sammy’s skin. 

Sammy relaxes under his lyricist’s touch. So far, this is the type of attention he enjoys. Mostly nonsexual, yet still intimate, petting and doting. The only difference is normally Jack is not on top of him. When Jack starts to unbutton his shirt, Sammy’s heart rate jumps a little, but he quickly calms himself again. Being naked with Jack is nothing new, he reminds himself. He lies completely still underneath Jack and lets him do what he wants. 

Jack takes a while to appreciate Sammy’s bare skin. His kisses start to get a little sloppier, nibbling, licking, and sucking as he works his way over Sammy’s neck and to his collarbone. A hand strokes his chest and pays attention to his nipples. As Jack slowly gets more involved, more lost in the man he loves, his hips start to move slightly. He rubs himself against Sammy, breath quickening. 

Sammy gets nervous again. It’s Jack, he reminds himself. His Jack, his fiddle. He’s safe. And if he relaxes and only pays attention to the physical feeling, like how it feels when Jack takes his earlobe into his mouth, or the pleasant way his calloused fingertips scrape over his ribs, it’s kind of nice. The music director sighs and manages to get himself calm again. But he has to go through the whole process all over again when Jack sits up and removes Sammy’s pants before moving his legs out of the way. Every motion just feels so jarring with the room so silent. 

Jack’s breath catches when their packages touch. They’ve never done this without an instrument between their bodies. This is the first time Jack’s lower belly touches Sammy’s. He closes his eyes and takes a moment to just savor it. He can’t help but to notice Sammy’s limpness against his own arousal, but he doesn’t let it concern him. He can tell Sammy is nervous, and figures his boss will get more into it once they’re having sex. Still, Jack does his best to have Sammy enjoy this by returning to his favorite spots to be touched time and again. 

Jack moves up and down Sammy’s body with hands and mouth. Even though Sammy doesn’t so much as lift a hand or show any enjoyment, Jack keeps rubbing himself against Sammy’s crotch at a steady pace. Jack has to move Sammy, himself, to try to get the man more involved. He twists his fingers into Sammy’s unstylishly long hair to tug his head back and expose more neck for Jack to suck on. And nudges his arms further to the sides to get to his sensitive ribs. And, of course, adjusts his legs to better their angle. 

Jack has done about all the foreplay he can stand to do. Jack sticks two fingers into his mouth and sucks on them a moment. It would be nice if at some point they use something other than just spit, but he knows better than to introduce too many new things to Sammy at once. For now, this is enough. 

Jack rubs his fingers against Sammy to slick him well and, hopefully, tease him a little. His fingers slide inside easily enough, and Jack works his ex boyfriend for a few minutes, pumping his fingers, scissoring them, then adding a third. Sammy keeps his breathing even and his body relaxed, but his heart is racing. Jack is not hurting him, far from it. But having sexual contact and penetration without the comfort and arousal of an instrument in his hands is scary to Sammy. Jack keeps making eye contact with his mate, though, checking in frequently to look for signs of distress. 

Jack pulls out his fingers and spits on his hand, slicking himself. He grabs his cock firmly and pushes the head against Sammy. They’ve coupled often enough that Sammy’s body lets Jack in with little fuss. Jack moans at the feel of that tight hole wrapped around his most sensitive part. 

Sammy grimaces when Jack pops inside. It’s easier when he’s aroused, as he’s more relaxed and the distraction of intense pleasure and lust overtakes the discomfort. Jack’s presence stings, and his tiny, eager thrusts to get deeper inside don’t help. Sammy is careful to force his expression back to neutral quickly, though. It hurts, but that doesn’t mean he wants Jack to stop. 

Soon Jack is in full swing, gripping Sammy firmly while their bodies slap together quickly. Jack keeps tracing his mouth across Sammy, keeping the taste of his sweet skin on his lips. The brunette groans and pants as he takes his former boyfriend, but Sammy remains limp and unmoving. 

Sammy is adjusting. He braces his fingertips on Jack’s forearm as they fuck, barely touching him. The pain quickly passes, and now Sammy is just feeling what’s happening to him. It's not altogether unpleasant. Jack’s touch is still soft, and the sounds he’s making please Sammy’s ears. The rhythmic rocking from their bodies meeting then pulling apart is soothing. While not exactly aroused, the feel of Jack’s cock rubbing his sensitive hole and, on occasion, brushing his spot, has him half hard just from the stimulation. Most importantly, Jack seems to be enjoying himself. That’s all that really matters to Sammy. 

He stares upward and just lets the lyricist move but then remembers that he’s supposed to look at Jack. That was the normal way, right? Two people and no instruments on a bed, facing each other while they make love.

He tries to meet Jack’s eyes to give him what he wants and their gazes quickly catch. But then something goes wrong. Jack looks down at Sammy and then just...stops.

Sammy is confused. “What?”

To his horror, all the pleasure in Jack’s eyes has disappeared. Instead, he just looks sad.  
“I can’t force you to enjoy this, can I?” Jack asks with a sigh.

“What are you talking about?” Sammy huffs. “I’m enjoying this fine. I like hearing you moan. You sound nice and in tune.”

In tune. Like an instrument. Except not really because an actual instrument would have Sammy red hot and writhing around while making moans of his own, not laying there like a dead fish waiting for it all to be over. As much as Jack wants Sammy, he doesn’t think he can keep going.

He climbs off the composer. “I guess it’s harder to pretend when you actually have to look at me.” Jack flashes Sammy a weak smile. “Let me go and get a real fiddle for you.”

It hurts to not be able to light that same fire in Sammy, but they can still salvage this. He’ll get his fiddle and play a bit for Sammy. There’s plenty more room on the bed than the couch; Jack can still fuck Sammy while he rubs himself on the instrument. Sammy’s already apologized and gone this far for Jack. There’s no need to force this any further. Jack will only end up crying if they do, and Sammy’s already cried more than enough for the both of them.

Jack moves to go grab his case back in the living room when Sammy grabs his hand to stop him, squeezing it tightly.

“I’m not pretending anything. You’re a fiddle. Please, Jack. You’ve always understood. Even when you can’t feel what I do, you at least understand. Please, you have to understand this.”

The lyricist lets out a slow breath. “You’re turned on by instruments. I can understand that, even if I don’t feel the same. But I don’t know that I can wrap my head around this one. You have to realize how nonsensical it sounds. I’m a person.”

“And yet I’m with you!” Sammy exclaims. “From the night you first played for me. You played and I was drawn to you. I felt attraction to you.”  
“Because you were fondling my violin.”

“Because you are a violin. Do you realize how many people have wanted me to sleep with them? Have tried to get me in bed like this?” Susie’s blonde hair suddenly flashes through Sammy’s mind against his will. “Jack, you have no idea how hard I’ve fought to get out of this exact situation at any cost. And I’m here with you.”

Jack lets out a snort. “Oh sure, complain to me about how your handsome features are such a curse.”

“Jack, I’m being serious. You’re special. You have no idea how special. You’re a fiddle. You’re a fiddle because you just… you just are.” Sammy gives his hand another squeeze. “You’re Jack. You’re a fiddle. You’re my fiddle.”

The lyricist still looks extremely unconvinced. “Sammy, you’re not even hard. Not really. And I’ve seen you go hard just from looking at an instrument. So tell me again, how am I a fiddle?” 

Sammy bites his lip. Why is this so difficult to explain? Why is this so impossible for Jack to understand? Sammy’s not great with expressing himself using words, so what else can he do to drive this concept home? 

If I’m a fiddle then fuck me like one.

Well. If Jack wants Sammy to have sex with him properly, Sammy will give it to him. 

Sammy twists them around and pushes Jack onto his back so he can get on top of him. From there, he looks down at his employee, eyes rather wide. 

Jack looks up at Sammy, confused. He brushes his messy hair more or less back into place. “Are you alright? What are you doing?” 

“Having sex.” 

Jack only looks more confused. “You know there’s more to it than-”

“Shut up, I’m doing it.” Sammy gets his knees between Jack’s, and the violinist quickly moves to let Sammy settle in place, his breath hitching. 

“Do you mean it? Sammy, you don’t-”

“I said shut up.” The blond spits into his palm and starts to pump himself, trying to get from half mast to full arousal. Jack watches a moment, then reaches behind Sammy and slips a finger back inside him, curling it and easily finding his spot. Sammy gasps and his back bucks involuntarily as he quickly hardens from Jack’s touch. 

Sammy leans down and tactlessly spits directly on Jack. The man flinches a little, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t want to rattle what little confidence Sammy has. It only worsens when it becomes clear just how inexperienced and unknowledgeable Sammy is. He humps, thrusts, and pushes uselessly against Jack, not able to get where he wants to go. The shorter man lies still for a while, just to see if Sammy will figure it out. When he’s clear he’s not going to get anywhere, Jack reaches down and pushes a finger into his own virgin hole, opening it slightly. He starts to speak to instruct Sammy, but before instead of words, a wooshing gasp escapes him when Sammy plows heedlessly into him, ripping inside and taking him to the hilt. 

They both freeze, gasping. Jack shoves his head back into the pillow and clenches his jaw as his muscles cramp. Sammy is well above average in size, and Jack has never been taken by anymore before. Meanwhile, Sammy has never been inside anyone before. He’s used to the cool, hard surfaces of instruments, or a slicked hand. When his cock finally breaks inside, he’s overwhelmed at how warm and tight Jack’s body is, the velvety inner walls both gripping him and yielding to him. It’s too much for both of them. 

Confused and flustered, Sammy just wants this to be done. He shifts his hands, which are braced on either side of Jack, and starts to move. The problem is Sammy is used to skimming his cock against a flat surface, not pushing inside of someone, so his movements are off. He can’t seem to get into a rhythm, and ends up with odd, inconsistent, halting motions.

Jack can’t help the abusive thoughts that race through his head. Sammy, that stupid son of a bitch, does he really not have the sense to do this properly? Jack just went through the correct steps with Sammy not 5 minutes ago, and he thoughtlessly plows in like this? Jack grunts in pain for a few minutes before his body finally attempts to relax. He quickly realizes that Sammy’s going to need help with this, and starts to pump his own cock to assist. His anger quickly vanishes. Really, he should have seen this happening, and Jack takes some blame for not anticipating the problem. The sex wouldn’t be half bad, Jack thinks, if Sammy would settle on an angle and a speed and stick to it for a while. But the blond has to stop every few thrusts to pant and shiver and try to keep himself from finishing, and Jack can’t push back or pump himself in time this way. 

Then suddenly Sammy’s cumming. Even though he tried so hard to put it off, Jack is too overstimulating for Sammy’s inexperienced cock. 

“I’m sorry,” Sammy pants. 

“Shh. Stay where you are.” Jack wraps his legs around Sammy and bucks his hips, working himself up and down Sammy’s spent cock at a more normal pace while he continues to pump himself. Sammy groans at the overstimulation as Jack fucks himself on him. 

In spite of the sex being the worst Jack has ever experienced, he’s still aroused simply because he’s with Sammy. He loves Sammy with all his being, and he knows he did his absolute best, all for Jack’s benefit. So it only takes a few moments of consistent, good stimulation for Jack to finish. 

The moment he’s done, Sammy rolls off of him, putting some space between them so he can pant and let his nerves and anxiety calm down. Jack grabs a tissue and wipes himself clean, then rolls over to look at Sammy. 

“Are you alright?” Jack asks. 

“Fine,” Sammy mumbles. “I guess you want to break up again.”

“Again? We never got back together. I told you, that’s up to you. Until you say the word, we’re broken up. In any case, why do you say that?”

“...Because I’m bad in bed.”

"Don’t say that, you dumb slut. You were amazing.”

Sammy shifts so that he’s also facing Jack. “Liar.”

“I came, didn’t I?” Jack smiles. Of course he’s lying. That was the worst, most awkward and fumbling sex he’s ever had. Not to mention short. Sammy didn’t last three minutes. But there’s no point in hurting his feelings. Besides, if Jack ever wants to experience Sammy’s terrible sex again, he needs to not tear him down about it. 

“So… You’ll take me back?” Sammy asks rather timidly.

“I never wanted to break up in the first place. Ending things was your decision. So you tell me: are we a couple again?”

Sammy just nods, tears forming in his eyes. 

“Then come here, you idiot,” Jack says, stretching an arm towards him. Sammy immediately wiggles forward and to Jack’s chest, his own personal safe space, and starts to cry a little in relief. 

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Jack mutters as he holds him close. “Just, next time, maybe we should talk a little before you break up with me and run out the door. And maybe, you know, never call me your seventh-favorite anything again.”

Sammy only sniffles in response, and Jack presses kisses to the top of his head.

“I love you. I love you so much. And I never want to hold those words back again. I want to tell you how much I love you forever.”

Sammy starts crying harder.

“I’ll always take you back. Always. Because no matter what stupid, insensitive things you say, I will always love you. God help me, I always will.” 

Jack knows Sammy’s not about to return the words. But he can tell from the bruises Sammy’s fingers are digging into Jack’s flesh and his tears that he feels at least somewhat the same as Jack does. 

He nuzzles against his boyfriend. “How about we try our celebration again today? A little do-over?”

Sammy nods against Jack, and the lyricist smiles. Hopefully this one will go a little smoother than the last one.


End file.
